


Can't Believe This is How I Leave You

by lapseinjudgment



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Persona 4
Genre: Genderfluid Shirogane Naoto, Multi, Nonbinary Shirogane Naoto, Slow Burn, cameos from the p3 and p5 cast, dead dove do not eat, he/him they/them later, kannao is the focus but the other ships are there, she/her pronouns at first for naoto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25729951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapseinjudgment/pseuds/lapseinjudgment
Summary: He should be thinking of something else as he stares at the artificial sky above him: should try to fight off the woman standing above him, try to run, try to do something.All he can think as the ax comes down is that he had wanted to go first.
Relationships: Amagi Yukiko/Satonaka Chie (mentioned), Hanamura Yosuke/Seta Souji (mentioned), Shirogane Naoto/Tatsumi Kanji
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

Kanji is fifteen and starting to question things about himself. Thinking about what it means to be attracted to the girl -boy?- who lives down the road. The one who dresses like an old man, who never speaks to anyone in their year. Who spends all her -his?- free time in the factory, which screams Capitol Kiss Ass so loudly he thinks their classmates would avoid her even if she tried to speak to them. 

He thinks about talking to her, late at night, tucked safely in bed in his tiny room above the textile shop. He has a big order to work on tomorrow, he should be sleeping. But no, his mind keeps turning his few interactions with Naoto over and over in his head. They’ve only exchanged 33 words in the past year, and what’s more pathetic? That he’s this obsessed when they’ve spoken so little, or that he’s been counting the words? 

He closes his eyes and resolves not to think about it anymore. There’s no point in acting on your feelings this young anyway: not when two poor saps are getting brought to the Capitol a week from now for the Games. 

Kanji doesn’t let himself think he may be one of them.

...xXx…

It’s pouring rain on Reaping Day and Kanji’s standing with the other fifteen year old boys, glowering in his sodden clothes. District Eight often gets a lot of attention on Reaping Day due to the quality and style of their clothes, but he gets the feeling they’ll be largely skipped over today. He hunkers deeper into himself and wishes for the millionth time he was shorter. He looks like an adult crammed into the kid’s section, and feels as stupid as that implies. Like he’s been held back another year in school.

It has some benefits, though. He’s got a pretty good view of the girl’s section over everyone’s heads, so he can clearly see the berth everyone gives Naoto over with the other sixteen year olds, even if he can’t see her. And it’s definitely her today: this is the once yearly reminder that she is in fact a girl, regardless of how she dresses, how she speaks and acts. He thinks he can see the top of the stupid hat she always wears, but his line of sight is blocked by one of the other girls, leaning over to whisper something to her friend and snicker.

The doors of the mayor’s office open and his attention snaps to the glittering pink figure walking to the microphone. This is Azalea, their new coordinator, and Kanji’s eyes hurt just looking at him. Everything is pink, from his skin to his eyes and his hair, down to the soles of his fuschia shoes. Maybe if he had matched the shades it would have been alright, but it looks like he just took any shade and put it on. Like he can’t be bothered to dress properly for this.

That shit wouldn’t fly in the Capitol, and it won’t here, either.

Azalea prattles on about the Treaty of Treason, and the Dark Days, and all the other things Kanji doesn’t listen to in school. Blah blah blah, there was a war and they lost, and now they have to get slaughtered once a year. He zones out until Azalea gestures to the big glass bowls either side of him, protected from the rain by a marquee. Wouldn’t want the ink to run, after all, gotta be sure you send the right kid to the slaughter. 

Ladies first, as per tradition, and Kanji’s eyebrow twitches at the faces Azalea makes as he draws the name. Big and exaggerated, like having your name drawn is a prize. Maybe to the Capitol it is. Either way, Kanji’s buffing his nails on his shirt when the name is called out, when the whole world comes to a stand still.

“Naoto Shirogane!” 

His head whips to the girl’s section, and the berth that had already existed spreads even wider now. Naoto’s face is on the screen, pale beneath the brim of her hat. She reaches a shaky hand up and adjusts how it sits before walking into the main thoroughfare and fuck, she’s so small. Some of the twelve year olds tower over her as she walks up the stairs, shoulders straight and dignified as she takes the podium. 

Azalea looks between the slip of paper and the person in front of him, seemingly confused. And there’s a couple things that could confuse him, to be fair. The fact she’s dressed in men’s formal clothes, the fact she looks more like a ten year old boy than a sixteen year old girl, the low timbre of her voice when she greets him politely, introduces herself.

Kanji thinks he hears someone spit off to his left, thinks he hears the words “good riddance.”

Naoto holds her head high as the next name is called - Kiran, a boy two years older than her. He’s trembling as he approaches the stage, not a trace of the composure Naoto carried herself with. Kanji thinks he sees tears in his eyes when Azalea makes him say his name and his age. He’s eighteen, he’d almost made it.

As Azalea leads them away, Kanji wishes that Naoto would look back like Kiran does. Wishes he could get a last glimpse of her face in person before the Capitol gets its claws in. But there is no looking, and the door clicks closed behind them.

This is the first time he’s really cared about anyone who went in, and he doesn’t like how that revelation sits.

...xXx…

It’s nearly a week later when he sees her again during the Parade. He’s watching on the tiny tv in the sewing room when she comes into view, and he feels guilty that the first thought in his mind is that they must have given her a box to stand on.

They’ve done something to her hair, made it so the blue shines through more clearly through the black. It’s been cut even shorter than it already was, tight to the sides of her head except for a fringe at the front, obscuring her eyes. 

(And for a moment he’s three years younger, watching a boy named Minato take the stage, hands shoved in his pockets and a bored expression on his face. The same inky blue black hair and grey blue eyes staring out across the crowd. He’d died in the bloodbath, a sword jammed through his throat.) 

Being from Eight has more advantages than generous screen time at the Reaping, and their costumes stand out as the best in a dreadful year. Naoto is in a dress that shifts from purple to blue to white in the sun, and if she’s uncomfortable with the neckline that plunges past her navel she doesn’t show it. Doesn’t show much at all, which is typical. He can’t remember her ever showing anything close to an emotion on her face. Save perhaps smugness, but she looks the farthest thing from smug here. 

She’s there and gone on the screen, and it takes him twenty minutes for his chest to unclench at the sight. He’d long wondered if seeing her in a dress would answer some questions for him, but if anything he’s just more confused. He spends longer berating himself for thinking that’s the most important thing a dead girl can do for him.

...xXx…

They don’t see anything of the training centre until the scores are posted, and he looks away when they are. Kiran gets a seven, but Naoto comes in at only a five, and Kanjii didn’t think there was any hope left in him until he feels the last of it leech away. Naoto stares out from the screen, expressionless as ever, and Kanji lays in his room, wondering what it would be like to know with certainty that you’re going to die. How you can keep your composure with that looming over you.

That maybe there’s something broken deep inside her mind, and a fear creeps in to replace the trickle of hope that left. That coldness in her eyes? He’s seen it before, in the eyes of Careers as they take other kids apart. The part of his mind that’s so skilled at self deception says it doesn’t mean anything.

...xXx…

The interview is required viewing, but he does his best not to listen until it’s Eight’s turn. It’s easy to get lost in the cycle of faces, and for a moment he’s afraid he missed her but there she is, called forward by Caesar. He feels like it takes her longer than the others to reach him at the podium, but Kanji's not sure if that's true or if it just feels that way.

They’ve kept the same color scheme from the Parade, combining it with what he thinks is a butterfly motif? Maybe? The long shawl that trails from her shoulders definitely makes his mind twig on butterfly wings, but even with his tailor’s eyes it’s hard to be sure. The dress is tailored tightly to try and give her an hourglass-figure - too tightly, in fact. He wouldn’t be surprised if a seam split when she sits down. But no such catastrophe would ever be allowed to happen during the interviews, and she settles into the chair.

He notices again that she doesn’t sit like a woman, or even like a girl. Her posture is more reminiscent of the boys he’s seen than of the girls mimicking womanhood and he wonders again if that means anything. Both for her and for him.

Caesar can ring tears from a stone, but even he has his work cut out for him trying to get Naoto to open up. She refuses to talk about her personal life, her interests, her family. The only subject he can get an easy answer from her about is the Games, but she doesn’t answer like a Career would. It’s like she’s reading facts from a particularly dry textbook, and even with the specific attention he’s paying to her, her interview passes without leaving any kind of impression. She’s totally forgettable, and that’s not a word Kanji had ever associated with her before now. 

He wonders who sleeps worse tonight: her or him.

...xXx…

The Arena is a factory. His heart is hammering in his chest as he and his mother crush together on the sagging armchair to watch the Games begin. It’s a factory, just like the one Naoto has spent all her spare time in for as long as Kanji can remember. A thread of hope begins to wind itself around his throat, ready to strangle him. 

Everyone is in work clothes: flannels, wife beaters, heavy denim jeans, work boots. It would be hard to pick Naoto out of the crowd with that getup but he sees her, and she doesn’t look expressionless now. She has a certainty about her for the first time since he saw her on the Reaping stage, and he’ll think about what that could mean if she survives the next ten minutes. “Kanji, please let go of my hand, you’re hurting me.” His mother chastises and he apologizes, totally ashamed. 

He’s so caught up in his apology that he almost misses the countdown wind to a close. Then the cannon fires and all is chaos. Naoto races towards the cornucopia and he’s screaming at the tv for her to run the other way you idiot, what are you doing? She doesn’t hear him, of course, and instead scoops a backpack off the ground and leapfrogs over a pair of tributes who had been fighting over a first aid kit, plucking a knife from the back pocket of one of them. As she lands another tribute tries to grab her, and Naoto slams her elbow so hard into the other girl’s nose Kanji thinks she may have killed her, a cannon firing just as the blow lands. Naoto sprints away from the carnage, using her stolen knife to lever the cover off a nearby grate and scrambling inside.

The bloodbath lasts thirteen minutes. Less than half the tributes are dead, Kiran among them, who had begged for his life before being practically sliced in half by Clytemnestra, the female Career from Two and this year’s smart bet to win. Kanji can’t listen to the commentators gush over her: it just pulls that string around his neck tighter. 

...xXx…

The Games drag on for twenty excruciating days and it’s largely because nobody can fucking find her. Naoto’s like a ghost in the factory, the only sign she’s still out there the traps she leaves in her wake and the cannons in the night when she falls upon her prey. Sleep deprivation starts becoming a real issue for the remaining tributes. The Career pack dissolves from a schism nine days in, with Clytemnestra allying with the pair from Four and killing the girl from One, sending her partner scurrying with the boy from Two. The boys perish later the same day when a massive Mutt leaps out from where it’s camouflaged itself among the machines, ripping off the cap of one of their skulls before chasing the other down. His name is Miracle, and he takes agonizing minutes to die. Kanji doesn’t bother hiding the sound of his retching as he runs for the bathroom.

He tries to check in every hour or so after the Mutts are revealed, but there are still orders to fill and Naoto is barely on screen anyway. Even the Capitol seems to be having a hard time keeping track of where she is, and they’ve clearly had enough by day fourteen. The Gamemakers flood the vents with expanding foam, forcing her to choose between suffocating and actually going into the arena proper. Naoto chooses the latter, and for the first time in two weeks Kanji gets a good look at her. She looks horrible: she’s dropped at least ten pounds she couldn’t stand to lose. There are bags under her eyes and cuts all along her arms, but she’s still recognizable. Still Naoto, despite it all. There’s a comfort in that, or maybe a sadness. Only time will tell.

And tell it does. There’s a feast on the sixteenth day that sees a drastic reduction in tributes: of the seven left, three die, including Clytemnestra. Naoto loosens a pipe in the ceiling and drops it on the Careers when they enter, a cannon firing as the pipe slams into the top of Clytemnestra’s head. Naoto falls with it but manages to roll out of the drop, making off with two bags of supplies with only a twisted ankle. This leaves the remaining Careers to tangle with the other, allied tributes, who lunge at the opportunity she creates. A crack appears in her mask, a single tear slipping from her eye as she runs from the sound of cannon fire.

(The stupid, romantic part of Kanji wants to reach into the screen and hold her, wipe the tears from her eyes and tell her everything’s going to be okay. Because she’s still her, still the girl he likes to think he knows, at least a little. The fantasy falls apart before it can even fully form.)

The final three are Naoto, Soraya, and Honnold, the tributes from Four. The Gamemakers force them into a room filling rapidly with the same foam they had used to block the vents. The Careers haven’t seen it before, and their momentary confusion is what brings Naoto back home. She rushes towards the Careers, sliding in the foam before it begins to firm up and drives a knife deep into Soraya’s leg, severing her femoral artery and blinding herself with blood when she rips the knife free. Soraya goes down like a rock, pinning Naoto under the suffocating foam. She struggles free, forces her head above the surface - the desperation in her eyes as she gasps for air is an image that will linger in Kanji’s mind for a long, long time. 

Honnold lunges for her with his own knife, scoring a long cut across her cheekbone and cutting her ear in half. But the force with which he stabs is his downfall and he slips, letting Naoto twist out of the way and drive her knife under his ear and up into his brain. The cannon feels like it hits Kanji in the chest when he hears it. She won. She actually won, and now she’s coming home.

So why does it feel like the world ended anyway?

...xXx…

Naoto is on screen again two weeks later, and she doesn’t look like herself at all. She’s gained back a little of the weight, but has a vacant expression along with it. Lights are on but nobody’s home as his mother often says, and never has he understood the expression more than now. 

Plastic surgery isn’t unusual for Victors after the Games. Sometimes it’s their idea. Mostly it isn’t. He puts the boob job they gave Naoto firmly in the second category, and it doesn’t seem to be sitting well with her. Her breasts are large, just at the edge of believable for her body type and age, and she seems to keep getting distracted by them. Each time Caesar's attention turns to the screen behind them hers falls to her chest, and something in Kanji’s stomach twists. She looks fragile in a way he’s never associated with her before and he’s not sure how to feel. 

It’s like he’s starting to realize something essential about her, and it makes everything better and worse at the same time.

...xXx…

It’s been seven months since the Games when a knock comes to the Tatsumi door late at night. Kanji’s the only one awake: his mom’s been in bed for hours as he works away on a project, and knocking late at night never means anything good. But he opens it anyway on the off chance it’s Peacekeepers and nearly slams it again when he sees Naoto standing outside. She’s hunched into her jacket, hat pulled even lower than usual over her eyes. “May I come in?”

“Y-yeah. Sure, just-” he gestures to the side and steps as far back as he can to let her in. He’s pretty sure she can feel the heat radiating from his face as she enters but there isn’t much he can do about it. “C’n I get you some tea or anythin?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Naoto is looking at the tiny shop, turning her hat around and around in her hands. Even when she speaks to Kanji she won’t look his way, which spares him having to explain why his face is so red. “I was wondering if I could commission something from you. Privately.”

Kanji’s ears perk up. A private commission? What could that mean from someone outside the Capitol? Most of the ones he’s handled have been delicate, intricate costumes, crotch optional. “Uh, yeah. You got anything specific in mind?” 

Naoto nods and hands him the slip of paper, all without looking at him. “I require two of these, to be completed at the earliest convenience. Should they prove satisfactory, I would be willing to requisition a third.” 

He nods and looks at the pattern, brow furrowing as he decodes it. Her handwriting is surprisingly shitty. The design is for what appears to be a high compression tank top with a zipper under the left arm. He looks up from the paper and tucks it in his pocket. “Two days alright?” 

She looks like she’s about to argue - about what? He has to prototype the damn thing - before giving him a terse nod. “I’ll be back at the same time two days from now then. Thank you, Mr. Tatsumi.” 

She’s gone as quickly as she came, and he’s not sure what part of the exchange was the strangest. Someone his own age referring to him as Mr. Tatsumi, or everything else that just happened. 

...xXx…

She commissions the third top a week after he delivers the first two. She seems happier, more at ease when she places the next order, and he’s pretty sure he knows why. The compression is keeping her breasts close to her ribcage and it’s obvious now how much her posture had changed since the Games. Where before she had been hunched over and shy, she now carries herself like she did before she was Reaped, and the light of curiosity returns to her eyes. 

The next Games arrive faster than he thought possible. Naoto’s exempt from the Reaping and takes her place with the other handful of Victors District Eight has to offer. It’s a paltry bunch, but Calico at least looks dignified. Kanji is with the sixteen year olds now, but stands no less awkwardly above them. He isn’t chosen this year, thank fuck, but he feels bad for the kid that is. He’s a skinny thirteen year old, and he doesn’t stand a chance. Knows it too, by the look on his face as he takes the stage. 

He thinks Naoto meets his eyes as she disappears with the tributes, but he can’t be sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you want to make your faves suffer, and sometimes you just want to write something just for fun. This is what happens when both occur at once.
> 
> This is my first spin with any characters from Persona 4, and more will show up as the story progresses. It should be somewhere around five chapters long, depending on how in depth I want to go in the in-between moments of their lives.
> 
> Update: past me is a liar and has no idea how long this is going to be, but it'll definitely be longer than five chapters


	2. Chapter 2

Years pass, and they settle into an acquaintanceship. She comes into the shop every now and then, always with a commission in hand. Why she doesn’t just buy this shit from the Capitol is beyond him but he takes her money all the same. It spends as well as anyone’s, and she’s got enough to share around.

First she wants a knitted shawl in the same pattern she wore during her interview (which he was right about, it was supposed to look like butterfly wings). Then she wants a new royal blue peacoat with a pair of mittens to match. On and on, a couple times a year, and still the thought lingers as he knits and sews new creations for her. “Why d’ you come here? We live in Eight, there’s lotsa tailors. You’ve gotta walk past a bunch just ta get here.” He may be smart enough to take her money, but that doesn’t mean he’s smart enough not to ask about it.

Naoto looks up from the cup of tea she’d been drinking while he worked, clearly surprised at the question. It’s a cold day in March, and when a snowstorm blew in he’d invited her to stay. She takes a slow sip before setting the cup down. “There are eleven reputable tailors between Victor’s Village and here.” Naoto looks him in the eye and he gets the sense that he’s started a conversation he doesn’t know how to finish. “You fixed a backpack for one of our classmates in our second year of school. A strap had come loose and it was making it difficult to keep the bag tightened properly, and when you were done you offered to teach her how to repair it properly for the future.”

“What’s ‘at gotta do with anything?” The memory makes him prickle: the other kids had teased him for having a crush on the girl, a crush he’d angrily denied. Which, naturally, had made them tease him more. The only reason it had stopped was because the girl had died of pneumonia later that winter. Took the fun out of it.

He doesn’t remember her name anymore.

Naoto focuses back on her tea like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “My sewing skills are... comparatively subpar for someone of our District, so I admitted to myself that I needed to outsource production. That decision necessitated asking someone for help.” Are her ears turning pink? He thinks her ears are turning pink. “I decided that if my request was going to be denied, I would prefer it be .” 

Kanji pauses his knitting, looking over at her. Tries to study her the way he’s seen her do to others from time to time. There’s something in the way she says it that makes him think she’s talking about more than getting some underwear made, but he can’t be sure why. “Okay, but why keep coming back?”

The weight of Naoto’s gaze makes him feel like he’s choking: he swears she can read his mind, and there’s a lot of shit in there he doesn’t need her looking at. When her expression changes from her usual blank mask to a small, genuine smile, he feels his neck flush. “You treat me like a person rather than a Victor.” 

What the hell’s he supposed to say to that? Kanji looks down at the hat he’s working on - possibly rudely, but he can’t afford to put his work on hold to entertain - with renewed focus. He’s quiet for long enough that she turns back to her tea, apparently satisfied that the conversation is finished. “I don’t gotta ask - I got your Victory Book. Anything I’d wanna know would be in there, right?”

That brings her right out of her drink and her eyebrows up into her hairline. It’s so much easier to read her expression when she’s not wearing that hat of hers. “How did you even get that?”

Her tone is surprised rather than accusatory, and Kanji’s going to take that as a good thing. He feels the blush start to spread across his cheeks as well as his neck. “One of the train drivers from Six, he can get shit for ya.” He drops a stitch and curses as he goes to correct the mistake. “Traded him a jacket for his kid if he brought me the book.”

As far as contraband goes, a Victory Book would be something the Capitol would look kindly on. They’d whip you bloody for having it, sure, but they wouldn’t take your tongue. A book glorifying a particular year of the Games is something that’s more likely to get the shit kicked out of you by the District you’re in. He sees her mouth open again and rushes to say something so she can’t ask him whatever it is she’s thinking. “I wanted to see if there was anything about the dress you wore during the Parade. I liked how the fabric looked, thought I could make something with it for the shop window.”

Naoto’s still watching him when he dares to look at her, but she doesn’t seem angry. That has to be a good thing, right? “If you want to remake it for sale rather than simply display, I would recommend using a sweat wicking fabric as a liner. Part of the reason the dress was cut the way it was was due to its lack of breathability.” Her mouth twists in a grimace. “It was approximately thirty degrees that day; I spent the entire Parade focused on not succumbing to the heat.”

That’s news to him. He puts the hat down and leans his elbow on the counter, turning that over in his mind. “They didn’t think of that? The Parade’s in fuckin July, shit’s gotta breathe.”

Naoto sets her cup aside and leans forward on folded arms. “One would think, but no. It could have been worse, of course: I could have been Miracle and Lace. They were stuck in gold ring mail in the same weather I was.” Her eyes are alive with something close to mischief and Kanji feels his stomach fall somewhere down around his knees. “I think I remember working on the fabric they used for Silphie, the girl from Five.”

Kanji snorts - he can’t help it. He remembers how she did in school. “If you’d made it it would’ve fallen apart the second she moved.” She looks aghast, crossing her arms and reaching to pull down the brim of a hat she isn’t wearing.

“That is slander, and I will not stand for it.” She glowers at the floor, and he can’t believe that Naoto Shirogane is pouting in his living room, but here he is. “I’m just as capable of running a weaving program as anyone else. More so.”

He puts his hands up at the venom in her voice. “Hey, I didn’t-”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his thought. Naoto grabs her hat, pulling it firmly onto her head as she stalks out of the shop. Kanji stares at the door for a long time, wishing he could go back in time and keep his mouth shut.

...xXx…

Kanji doesn’t see her between that day in the shop and the Reaping. Which isn’t that unusual to be fair; she seems to spend a lot of time in the Capitol. He tries to catch her eye when she takes the stage, but she keeps her eyes fixed on a spot above his head. He looks away and fiddles with the hem of his lavender shirt. He’ll apologize to her in August once all this bullshit is over. Or avoid her forever, that sounds easier. Azalea makes his dramatic entrance, gives his speech. He’s wearing an ugly powder blue suit this year, and the LEDs he’s had sewn into the thing are giving Kanji a headache. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. Ten more minutes and he’s free of this forever. He can hardly wait. 

The chosen girl isn’t one he knows by name, or even by sight. In class instruction stopped at age sixteen, so Kanji has even less of an idea of who the other kids are now than he did before. Georgie’s fourteen, with shaggy brown hair and knobbly knees plainly visible as she takes the stage and introduces herself. He can see one of the bookies that flit through the crowds of parents and spectators, marking something down and scowling. Guess he lost some money.

“Now, for the gentlemen!” Azalea waves his hands over the second bowl like he’s going to conjure a rabbit out of it. He snatches up the envelope, spinning around on the spot, and Kanji isn’t sure if the spike in his blood pressure is from Azalea’s asshattery or from conditioned fear. 

“Kanji Tatsumi!”

A wordless scream fills the square: he isn’t sure who yells out. Himself, his mom? Somebody in the crowd? The boys around him shrink away and he’s more alone than he’s ever felt in his life. His mind is screaming too, screaming that this is a mistake, that Azalea must have read it wrong. It can’t be him, it can’t! He was supposed to be done!

“Come on up young man! Let’s get a look at you.” Azalea waves him forward (or maybe it’s the Peacekeepers he’s waving forward - Kanji can see them approaching at the edges of his vision) and Kanji takes a shaky step towards the aisle. Then another. His legs remember how to walk, even if his brain doesn’t. He doesn’t realize he’s on the podium until Azalea spins him to face the crowd, hands on his biceps. “My, you’re a big fella aren’t you?” He’s too stunned to do anything but nod in response. 

Azalea lifts his and the girl’s hands in the air in the air, cheering. The crowd is non-commital, giving enough reaction to keep the Capitol happy and nothing more. Kanji can see his mother looking out at him, but the air is too blurry for him to see her expression. A hand he can feel but not see leads him into the mayor’s house and he settles onto a couch, feeling like his bones are made of stone. When his mother arrives she holds him and he clings, face buried in her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ma.” Sorry for what he isn’t sure. Sorry for leaving his last commission on the counter when she had asked him to put it away before they left. Sorry that she’ll have to watch him die thousands of miles away, beyond the help of anyone.

She doesn’t say anything, just kisses the top of his head and holds him tighter as the Peacekeepers come to take him away, and he has to be bundled from the room, four Peacekeeprs almost throwing onto the train so it can depart.

He runs to the last car to watch his home vanish from sight, a hollow certainty that he will never see it again growing in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some assumptions here about how material culture works in the Capitol. I think the idea of what merchandising opportunities associated with the Games would look like is fascinating, and the idea of a Victory Book detailing everything about a particular year sounds like something that would definitely exist.
> 
> If this is contradicted in Songbirds and Snakes I apologize; I haven't read it yet.


	3. Chapter 3

They have a few hours before they reach the Capitol, and there’s only so long he can spend staring back towards District Eight. Kanji wanders into the lunch carriage to find his mentor waiting for him, and he’s a second away from finding out if the windows open enough for him to jump out. 

Naoto is sitting in a blue velvet chair with one ankle resting on her knee, reading a pristine novel. Her face is expressionless when their eyes meet over the back of her book, and he feels like he’s late to an exam. “Please take a seat, Tatsumi.” He does, feeling under-dressed and foolish as she looks him up and down. It’s the kind of look Stylists give the fabric they appraise before placing bulk orders and he hates her for it. 

There’s a lot to hate her for, honestly. Naoto’s a different person here: not the girl he went to school with, or the one who kept him company back in March. She looks more at ease in this train car than he’s ever seen her back home, and it makes all those rumours about her family being Capitol sympathizers ring true. Her hat is sitting on the table next to her and her hair looks recently cut, the sides far shorter than she usually keeps them. She’s changed out of the dress she was in on the stage and into an exquisitely tailored blue suit, her chest flat once more from the piece he made her. He wonders where she’ll get them made once he’s dead.

Naoto moves from her leisurely position, setting aside her novel and retrieving a notebook and pen from beside her hat. Her eyes flick over him again and he bites his tongue to keep from yelling at her to quit looking at him that way. “What would you describe as your strengths?” 

“What?”

“Your strengths,” she says, scribbling in her notebook. “What qualities do you possess that you think will aid you in the arena? We need to begin drafting our strategy to optimize your chances of survival.” 

God, it really is like he’s late to an exam. Kanji swallows. “Uh… I’m big? I hadn’t thought about it.” 

He gets a withering glare in response. “How tall are you? How much do you weigh? How much can you lift with your arms? With your legs? What’s your wingspan?” Her tone implies he’s the stupidest person alive and he grits his teeth.

“You want my dick length too while you’re at it?” The words come out in a growl, but the anger doesn’t seem to register with her. She simply stares at him, awaiting an actual response. He slumps back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Six foot one, 150 pounds, my body weight, fuck if I know, same as my height. Where’s Verdant?” 

Verdant is the only male Victor from Eight, a hermit who sometimes spends hours on a street corner yelling about how he crushed a kid’s skull with a hammer and made his eyes shoot out of his head. So scary, yeah, but he's still a Victor. If Kanji understands anything about the Games at all it’s that your mentors are both supposed to help you. Naoto being here alone doesn’t fit with that.

Naoto is writing down his responses in her illegible penmanship; it looks like code from where he’s sitting. “Georgie is the niece of one of Verdant’s friends - as such, he has elected to focus his efforts on mentoring her, to your exclusion. I will be responsible for allocating your sponsorship money should you survive the bloodbath, and tutoring you beforehand.” She flips a page. “Now, there are some rules we must go over…”

He can’t believe this. He really, truly can’t. One of his mentors has discarded him out of hand, and the other is treating this like a job interview. “Rules?” 

“Only one, really, but it is applicable immediately. Do not, under any circumstances, argue with your Stylist.” Naoto looks up from her notebook, making sure he’s looking her in the eye when she says this. “Their job is to make you presentable to a Capitol audience. Do what they say, and do not make them mad. I don’t believe the rumors of deliberate sabotage to be true, but they may decide at the last moment that being mouthed off to is justification to shave your eyebrows.” 

...Okay fine, he’ll give her that one. Kanji nods, crossing his arms. “Even if they try to put me in something stupid?”

“Especially when they try to put you in something stupid.” Naoto sets her pen down, her eyes still moving across the page. “When we arrive you’ll be taken to the prep room to be waxed, have your hair cut, everything they need to do to get you into an acceptable starting point. Once that is done you’ll meet your Stylist, who will get you changed, do final tailoring, and then escort you to the Parade grounds.” The tip of her tongue sticks out as she flips a page, and Kanji wants to strangle the part of himself that notices that.

“I’ll meet you when you mount the carriage, and escort you to our accommodations once the Parade is finished. We’ll be on the eighth floor, so you’ll have a good view of the city.” Grey eyes meet his. “After that it’s three days of physical training and making connections. I’ll be able to spend some time mentoring you personally, and then you’ll have your private assessment, which will be scored. Lastly is the interview, and then onward to the arena. Do you have any questions?”

_Yeah, why’d you have to read it like an itinerary? _Kanji runs his tongue along the back of his teeth as he thinks. “‘S there anything specific I should focus on in training?”__

____

He isn’t prepared for the way her posture changes, for the way she lights up, leans towards him. How excited she seems makes his stomach turn, and he starts to wonder if he’s been wrong about her all this time. That maybe Naoto wasn’t the normal, scared kid he’d thought she was when her name was called. Maybe she was one of the crazy ones, the ones who saw the arena as an outlet to go wild. To kill and kill until they were either consumed by the impulse or won. 

____

If she’s aware of these concerns she doesn’t show it, and his theory about her being able to read minds gets another tick against it. “As soon as you can, go to the strength training equipment. A better idea of how much you can lift would be invaluable, and then spend as much time as possible with the personal combat trainers. Hand to hand and knife skills are good choices, as knives are the most common weapons in the arena. To date, there’s only been one year without them, which was…” Naoto frowns, trying to remember. “The twenty ninth. They only had maces that year.” She wrinkles her nose when she says that. 

____

Kanji beats the idea of that happening into a dark corner at the back of his mind and leans forward. “What about making fires and shit?” He knows it didn’t really come up in Naoto’s Games, but those were something of an anomaly. “Is there a station for that?”

____

She nods, reopening her book and flipping pages so quickly he’s not sure how she can tell what’s on them. “Yes, there is. Focus on the survival plants and fire starting; anything involving rope skills should be simple for you, given your skills, so they won’t take long… spend the morning of the first day doing survival skills, then the afternoon and all of the second day on physical skills. Show off, but don’t be cocky. We want the Careers to take notice of you and offer an alliance.”

____

Kanji practically throws himself out of his chair and storms over to the lunch table. He hadn’t paid much attention to it before- too busy panicking about the fact he was stuck alone in a room with Naoto, talking about the fact he was going to die- but he starts loading a plate with some of everything to have something to do with his hands. He doesn’t even recognize half of the food. “No fucking way, not happening.”

____

The next moment Naoto’s standing next to him, crossing her arms. “Allies are important, and the Careers are the best allies you can hope for.”

____

“Sure, until they fucking behead me! I want as much distance between me and them as possible,” he snarls down at her. “I don’t want any allies, especially not them.”

____

Naoto’s lips thin. “Tatsumi, not having any allies makes the Games much, much more difficult. With no one to keep watch, help search for food, supplies, water, you will have to be entirely self sufficient. Exhaustion will set in rapidly, you’ll lose weight, have trouble focusing. Going it alone makes a deadly situation even moreso, and unnecessarily.”

____

Kanji shakes his head and brushes past her, going back to his seat, stabbing some kind of pasta with his fork and shoving it in his mouth. He only grabbed food to have an excuse to keep from talking but he immediately starts shoveling it down his throat - shit’s good. He can hear Naoto rummaging around at the table, and despite his best efforts to look out the window sees her settle across from him again. She doesn’t say anything for a while, which suits him fine. “I need you to listen to me.”

____

He turns his head to tell her to get bent but stops when he sees her expression. Naoto’s biting her lip and looking the most uncomfortable he’s seen her since she came into his store two years ago. “Your physicality ensures the Careers are going to notice you no matter what. All we can do is try and control how they see you. An ally is better than prey, Kanji. If you are not their ally when the bloodbath begins then you’ll be at the top of their list of targets. You’ll have to run, there won’t be another choice.”

____

He swallows, setting his plate aside and looking down at his knees. The food is less interesting than it was a moment ago. “How did you do it?”

____

Naoto looks away, gaze settling somewhere over his shoulder. “The third night of the Games, I was hiding in the vents above a camp that Klaus, the boy from Nine, had made. He didn’t realize I was there, and I’d been planning… I hadn’t decided on what. To steal his food in the night, perhaps? Or offer an alliance in the morning? It didn’t matter.

____

"The Careers found him. Once they killed him I watched them posing for the camera, smearing his blood on themselves so they could make the pictures more dramatic. They were laughing.” Her voice hitches on the last word, tongue slipping on something that could be bitterness. 

____

“I decided that I would go home. I wouldn't be another prop for the Career’s popularity. I ambushed a girl the next day and stabbed her in the lung. It was just... so easy...”

____

Kanji remembers that: if he tries he can still see Naoto run her bloody hands through her hair to get it out of her eyes while she’d searched the body. Her eyes are less focused now, staring back into a different time. Eventually she blinks, her eyes meeting his. “The Capitol wants everything from us. Only those who give it come home.”

____


	4. Chapter 4

After three hours in the prep room, Kanji’s decided that if Naoto had a bad experience with the Stylists it came down to her own personality rather than an alleged conspiracy. Sylas had been polite for the twelve seconds Kanji had seen him, and Rise, the girl doing his hair, is very friendly. None of them had seemed vindictive at all, or even apathetic. They’d been careful about what they did, and to his surprise Kanji found that he liked what they were doing. Waxing wasn’t fun but was over in a moment, and it was nice to have his nails done. 

Between Naoto’s warning and a lifetime of watching the Games, he’d expected this to be different. For his prep team and Stylist to be a group of taciturn old people with horns and claws who saw him as nothing more than a piece of meat. A job to be done, come back next year and do it again. Instead, they all seemed genuinely excited to be here, Rise in particular. He’s never seen anyone his age from the Capitol before, and if things were different he thinks they’d have a lot to talk about. 

For instance, right now they’re talking about his hair-care routine and she’s completely horrified by his methods for dyeing it back home. “Floor cleaner? Seriously? You’re lucky you have any hair left!” Rise shakes her head, hands moving perhaps a touch more forcefully against his scalp as she works the dye in. Her fingers brush along his ears and she looks down, curious at what she finds. “Who pierced your ears? I didn’t think that was a thing out there.” She traces one of the hoops very gently. Kanji looks away with a shrug.  


“I did. Lotsa needles in Eight.” He’d made the earrings himself, painstakingly bending needles and pieces of scrap metal to achieve the right shapes and flexibility. Rise probably thinks they look like shit. Cheap, clumsy imitations of the jewelry she can buy here. He’s still brooding about that when she leans over him, one pigtail falling in his eyes as she tries to get a better look. 

“How long did it take you to make them? Did you use a mirror when you did the actual piercing, or were you doing it by feel? Because -”

“Rise, you’re here to prep his hair, not interview him. Caesar’s not going to be happy when he hears he has competition.” Rise pulls quickly back, smacking him with the other pigtail as she does so. Sylas walks into the room, pulling latex gloves onto his hands and shaking his head. His long hair is indigo at the top and lime green at the bottom, and he has cyan rhinestones embedded around his eyes in a sunburst pattern. “What colour are we going with?”

“Blonde; I went for a more natural shade than he managed before, touched up his roots, and colour matched his eyebrows. The dye should be ready to comb out in… thirty seconds.” Rise looks down to check her watch, nodding to herself. 

Sylas nods and walks over, taking Kanji’s chin and tilting it so he can get a better view. “A good decision. You’re dismissed for now, Rise. I’ll call you back in when it’s time to style his hair for the Parade.” Rise nods and backs away, giving Kanji a wave over Sylas’s shoulder as she leaves. “Forgive her, she’s new.”

Kanji shrugs. “S’ fine.” He swallows and looks at a spot on the wall somewhere over Sylas’s ear. “So, uh… we doin’ this?” 

Sylas chuckles and releases his chin, apparently deciding that counts as an answer. He picks up a comb and moves behind Kanji, carefully scraping the foam Rise had applied earlier from his hair, repeating the process with his eyebrows. He strips the gloves off once he’s done. “Your costume is behind the partition in the corner - go try it on so I can see if it needs tailoring.” He backs away and picks up a tablet, waving his hand in dismissal. 

When Kanji had asked Naoto about being put in something stupid, he’d really meant it. He didn’t want to be paraded out in front of everyone in something hideous, and Naoto’s dress had been nice. Hope wasn’t unreasonable. The hope of dignity is shattered when he sees the monstrosity behind the partition. The shirt is voluminous and gaudy, a huge swath of purple silk that drapes pathetically when he wears it. The dagged sleeves reach the tops of his green leather ankle boots, and there’s a ridiculous looking scarf that’s at least twice as long as he is tall. The brown hosiery at least explains why they had to wax his legs along with his arms. He looks at himself and sneers.

“What the fuck is this?”

Sylas pokes his head around the corner with a frown. “It’s a look, Mr. Tatsumi. I don’t expect you to understand.” He reaches up and adjusts the collar of the shirt, rumpling it a little to expose more of Kanji’s chest and rewrapping the scarf because Kanji apparently did that wrong, too. “Tuck one side of the shirt for me?” 

It’s ten minutes of corrections before Sylas is happy, and then Kanji’s shoved into a chair so Rise and Prosperpine - call him Prosper, he insists - can do his hair and makeup. Rise slicks back his hair while Prosper bleaches his teeth, which is apparently a thing that needs doing. His earrings get Sylas’s stamp of approval when he comes to inspect his hair, and Prosper moves on to his makeup. Wearing lipstick is new, and the stuff they put on to emphasize his cheekbones makes him sneeze, but Kanji likes how his face looks in the mirror. Still hates the outfit, though.

Sylas checks his watch and turns, beckoning for Kanji to follow. “Come along.”

...xXx...

Naoto is waiting for him at the landing area for the Parade and winces in sympathy when she sees his outfit. She’s changed out of her suit from the train and into a sleeveless blouse more appropriate for the day’s heat. Interestingly, the garment he made her is gone as well, and he looks quickly away when he realizes this. It’s his first chance to see the other tributes, and even at a distance he can see that he’s taller than a lot of them. District Eight is near the back so he can’t see everyone, but all the tributes he can see milling around nearby are shorter by a fair bit. “I thought we only got older kids this year.”

Naoto nods, lips twisting in a slight frown. “Georgie is the youngest tribute this year.” She glances over at him. “It’s the same with the rest. None are taller than five foot ten.” Which puts him at least three inches taller than the next tallest competitor. Kanji hunkers down into himself, scowling. There go all his hopes of people looking at anything besides his stupid outfit. 

“Got any advice for this bit?” 

“Don’t fall off.” Naoto sounds distracted, rising onto her toes to try and get a better look at something. She rests the tips of her fingers against his arm to help herself balance and the contact makes his breath catch embarrassingly. “Please excuse me a moment,” Naoto is already slipping into the crowd as she says this, ditching him by the horses. He opens his mouth to call after her, ask her where the hell she’s going when she’s supposed to be helping him, but the words die on his tongue when he sees Souji Seta turn and smile at her.

Kanji knows who Souji is - everybody does. When the Capitol runs clip shows of previous Games, the moment where Naoki Konishi sacrificed himself to save him is always included. 

The third Victor from District Six and seventeen when he became the winner of the 49th Hunger Games, Souji is the reason some believe the Games are a popularity contest above all else. He had charmed Caesar, the Capitol, even the other tributes - his charisma had been like a gravitational force, and even in his living room Kanji hadn’t been immune to its pull. Souji’d had sponsorship money coming out of his ears, and he’d turned the gifts those sponsors bought him into alliances. 

Even though the stress of the Arena had turned his hair grey, Soujii had - apparently - emerged on the other side the same kind, soft spoken person he’d presented to the camera when he went in. The loving way he spoke about his little cousin didn’t exactly gel with the image of him standing over another tribute, sword in hand.

And now he’s smiling at Naoto, one hand on her shoulder in a gesture so casual Kanji isn’t sure it’s really happening even as he watches.

At least he doesn’t have long to dwell on it. Verdant appears on his right, sweaty and reeking of cologne. Georgie is on his other side, dressed in the same garish outfit as Kanji, and she sets a hand on Verdant’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

He jerks back to himself, turning and giving her a twitchy smile. “Just tired, I promise.” He looks around. “Where’s Shirogane?”

Kanji points down the line. “Talking to Seta over there.” 

Verdant makes a noise that could mean anything before he shouts. “Shirogane! Get your ass back here!” Naoto yelps and grabs Souji’s arm as she looks around for the source of the noise. She drops it just as quickly, mumbling apologies and storming towards them. For his part Souji doesn’t seem bothered, simply turns his attention to one of his tributes. Verdant doesn’t let Naoto get a word in when she stomps over, shaking his head. “You can talk to your boyfriend later, we got work to do.” 

Between Naoto’s glare and how red her face gets, Kanji’s surprised one of them doesn’t faint, explode, or both. “Verdant, as I have explained before-” a loud announcement comes on, announcing that the Parade is about to begin. Kanji can see Georgie start to tremble as Verdant helps her onto the chariot, and honestly? He’s right there with her. Naoto doesn’t look at him, just gestures to the chariot. “If you would.” 

Kanji pulls himself up, making sure he has his balance before the horses start moving. He’s already wearing a stupid outfit, the last thing he needs is to also fall off the damn chariot. A klaxon blares, the horses begin to move, and Naoto backs out of the way. Kanji takes a deep breath and puffs his chest out, ready to meet his audience.

...xXx…

The parade grounds are a sensory nightmare. Kanji can barely focus enough to remember to wave, sweaty and half blind as he is from the heat and light reflecting off the marble. The noise of the crowd thrums through his skull like a second heartbeat as they cheer around him. There are massive screens all around showing the faces of the tributes as they pass. It’s surreal to see his own up there and he looks away quickly - the costume is even less flattering than he had feared.

Snow’s speech is brief and then the Parade is over, the horses turning back to take them away. The noise fades as they enter the staging area and Kanji’s better able to feel his hands shaking as the adrenalin leeches away and the embarrassment sets in. He was just on tv in front of the whole of Panem in a stupid costume. Everyone back home would have seen him. Oh god, his Ma -

Georgie jumps off the chariot and into Verdant’s arms, laughing and chattering rapidly about how exciting that was, and did he see her? She didn’t fall off, and everyone was so excited! She doesn’t stop talking even as Azalea waves for them to follow him, simply keeps going as she works the scarf from around her neck. Kanji follows, not realizing Naoto wasn’t waiting for him until she falls into step beside him closer to the elevator. “You did well,” she says simply. “My fears about your scarves becoming entangled with the wheels proved unfounded.”

Well she could have fucking mentioned that before he got up there. “Happy to disappoint,” he mutters darkly. He tries to shove his hands in his pockets before realizing the hosiery doesn't have any and scowling harder. “When can I take this fucking thing off?” 

“As soon as we’re upstairs. Dinner will be waiting for us.” Naoto holds the elevator door open for him before following him in a move that feels a little strange. Like she was… he’s not sure. Just felt odd. “An Avox will be able to show you to your room upon arrival. If you need anything just ask them and it will be supplied.” Kanji doesn’t answer in favour of unwinding the scarf.

The view from the elevator is beautiful and Kanji follows the river with his eyes as they ascend, losing sight of it only when they come to a halt. It’s the highest up he’s ever been and it’s only when they stop that the thought occurs to him. It’s kind of exhilarating. Azalea is disinterested in how high up they are and is the first one out, his arm looped through Sylas’ and complimenting him heavily about this year’s costumes. Naoto is close behind, tossing her hat on a peg with a confidence that’s surprising until Kanji thinks about it. She’s been coming here for three years, of course she knows where the pegs are.

The dining area is the first thing he sees when he enters. The table is long and covered in food: meat, vegetables, bread, anything he could imagine and a few dishes he couldn’t. Sylas and Azalea are already settling in at one end, a blonde boy pouring wine for them before backing away against a wall. They don’t even acknowledge him, and it’s only when Kanji looks that he sees three other people in the room, all dressed similarly. One is waiting by a pair of doors to the right, another by a second set at the end of the room, and the third was actually right beside him, holding out a hand to take his scarf and making him jump out of his skin. “Shit- the fuck did you come from?”

Azalea laughs, not bothering to hide his face when Kanji glares at him. He flips him off and all it does is make the coordinator laugh harder. When Kanji turns back the Avox is still waiting for him, his hand outstretched to take the scarf. Kanji hands it over, feeling vastly uncomfortable. “Can, uh… where’s my room?” 

The man tucks the scarf under his arm and gestures for Kanji to follow him, leading him over to the second set of rooms down past the kitchen. He can see Verdant laying on a couch in the lounge area looking drawn and pale, staring blankly at the ceiling as they pass. The Avox opens the door to the room on the left, ushering Kanji inside. There’s a bed the size of his old room along one wall, a chest of drawers full of clothes for him to change into, and a bathroom through another door. One wall is nothing but a massive window looking down onto the city below. The Avox hangs up the scarf and picks up a remote, pointing between it and the window before handing it to Kanji. Curious, he hits a button.

The city below is replaced by a view of rolling hills under a night sky. Another button, another view, this time of dense pine forests, so real Kanji swears he can smell them. There are dozens of buttons on the remote and he has to resist the urge to spend the rest of the night seeing what each one does. He changes the window back to the city setting and turns to thank the Avox only to find him gone. Kanji sighs and sets the remote aside so he can change for dinner. 

Everyone is already eating by the time he’s out. Georgie is wearing a forest green tunic and jeans, talking with Azalea about something he can't hear. Naoto is sitting next to Verdant on the other side of the table, although “next to” is a bit of a stretch. She’s leaning as far away from him as she can while still being in her seat and keeps shooting him wary glances whenever he hiccups. Kanji takes the seat on her other side with a frown. “What’s with him?”

“There was food for us while you were on parade; I believe it disagreed with him,” Naoto replies quietly. She passes him a basket of rolls, taking one for herself and buttering it. “Hopefully he will be better by morning.” Kanji grabs a roll and shrugs, taking a bite while he waits for his turn with the butter.

The food is delicious: rich sauces, crunchy vegetables, meat that practically melts in the mouth, and that’s to say nothing of dessert. He eats as much as he can and then a little bit more when Verdant points out this week will be the last chance they have to bulk up. He was expecting some kind of in depth play by play strategy from Naoto while they ate, but it never comes. She simply reiterates what she said on the train, as well as a couple station recommendations for Georgie, who nods along but doesn’t reply. 

Verdant is the first to leave the table, mumbling something that isn't quite an answer when Sylas asks how he's feeling. Georgie doesn’t linger long after, taking a few extra cakes on a plate and bidding everyone goodnight. Kanji watches her go, thinking to himself. “If I asked her to be an ally, she’d say no, wouldn’t she?”

Naoto hums from where she sits next to him, leaning back in her seat. “I believe so, yes.” She looks at him thoughtfully. “Have you reconsidered my suggestion?”

Kanji shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah, I was just thinking.” He’s quiet for a while, trying to organize his thoughts. “I don’t know if I can do it, Naoto.” 

He’s expecting her to be looking away when he looks over but instead she’s looking at him head on, grey blue eyes fixed on him. “The odds are in your favour, Kanji,” she says firmly. “It’s too early for defeatist thinking.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “When do I get to think that way, then?”

The chair scrapes next to him and Naoto stands, stretching her arms across her chest. “When the time arises, I will let you know. Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

He nods as she leaves, heading to bed soon after. He feels like sleep should come less easily than it does.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training Centres, assessments, and interviews, oh my.

Training goes better than Kanji could have dreamed. He excels at the physical skills, demolishing the obstacle courses and strength stations with ease. A few days isn’t enough time to develop any real skill with a weapon so he focuses on things like clubs, staffs, and maces. Blunt objects, easy to make if he's in a pinch and good for knocking down anything in his way. Like the personal trainers who are there to help him practice, for instance. The Careers watch him like Naoto said they would and he takes their attention and burns it for fuel. Tells himself that they’ll leave him alone if they think he’s a threat even though he knows it’ll do the opposite. He even thinks he sees the Gamemakers watching him at one point, but when he looks back he can’t be sure.

Surprisingly, he makes a friend. Ken Amada, a fifteen year old from District Twelve who’s surprisingly good with a spear, sits with him at lunch and spends the afternoon going through the strength training stations with him. It’s nice, and when he suggests a possible alliance to Naoto that evening she looks as happy as he’s ever seen her. She promises to talk to Akihiko, Ken's mentor, in the morning to see what she can arrange. 

That all comes to an abrupt end when he and Ken turn their attention to the survival stations. Kanji’s always been good with his hands and making snares and fishhooks comes easily to him. He makes a small rope doll with the station materials while he waits for Ken to catch up, much to the delight of the instructor. While he's not very good at snares, Ken turns out to be really good at making fires and after the first day Kanji’s feeling a little optimistic. Surviving is starting to seem possible, like they may actually have a shot. He feels this way right up until they get to the food prep station. He bombs the plant identification section so hard it makes Ken laugh but the real trouble comes when the instructor shows them a video of how to skin a rabbit. Kanji makes it seven seconds before sprinting to the edge of the room to throw up because how is he supposed to do that to a little bunny? 

Everyone is watching him: Ken with a look of unease and the Careers with a look of delight. One of the attendants gets him some water but the damage is done. They’ve smelled blood in the water, and the alliance with Ken disappears into the ether.

The morning of Kanji’s assessment dawns like the first day of final exams back home: nerve wracking and awful. Naoto does her best to talk him out of that mindset on their way down. Yes, it’s technically an exam, but one he gets to choose. “Try and relax,” she says, which feels a little rich coming from her. “Play to your strengths and aim for a well rounded demonstration.” Kanji is silent as he watches her leave. He doesn’t tell her that well rounded is off the table after the other day, that his only option is to try and prove to the Gamemakers that he really _is_ strong. 

His assessment sees him beating up as many trainers as he can convince the Gamemakers to throw at him, taking on eight at once and stomping them all into the ground. When those ones won't get up Kanji looks the Gamemakers dead in the eye and demands they send more. In the end he takes on fifteen, and scores a nine. It feels more deserved than any grade he ever got back home, and more ominous.

...xXx...

They have the morning to themselves on interview day and Kanji’s grateful for the lie in. He spends most of his free time lazing about in the garden on the roof, not really thinking about anything until Naoto comes to find him. He waves when he sees her and rolls off the bench he’d been lying on. As soon as he’s straightened up she’s walking away, expecting him to follow. “How are you feeling about this evening?”

Kanji falls into step next to her, shrugging. “Never tried to make people like me before.” He’s never paid much attention to what the tributes actually say during their interviews, always been more interested in what they were wearing. He’s regretting that now.

Naoto sighs. “This is your best chance to connect directly with the Capitol before the Games, and as such a good impression is crucial. Sponsors won’t spend a credit on someone they don’t like. Do you have a strategy?” Kanji shakes his head and is a little shocked when he sees her nod approvingly. “Good - the interviews are the worst place to be over prepared. It’s easier to answer questions honestly as yourself rather than try and lean into a character you are trying to play. The audience will respond better to answers they believe are genuine, so try not to think about them too much.”

He thinks back to what he remembers of Naoto’s interview, doing his best to dredge up how the audience reacted to her. Nothing comes. “What if Caesar asks something I can’t answer?”

“There is no question that cannot be answered,” Naoto says firmly. She hits the button for the elevator and checks her watch. It's blue, just like everything else Naoto seems to own. “Sylas has requested that you and Georgie arrive early so they can better prepare you for the etiquette of the interview.” Kanji doesn't want to think about what that could mean.

...xXx…

What it means, apparently, is that Rise gets to poke and prod him for hours in the name of correcting his posture while Sylas works in the corner making adjustments to his suit. Kanji growls when she readjusts his hair for the third time because somehow that’s still the biggest problem. “I thought you were supposed to be teaching me how to curtsy or whatever.”

Sylas snorts. “Curtsying may be a tradition where you come from, Mr. Tatsumi, but I would never dream of letting you do something so gauche on stage.” He holds the jacket out for Rise to help him into. “Try it now.” Kanji rolls his eyes and crouches down so Rise can drape it over his shoulders. The suit coat feels divine as divine as it did the last three times he tried it on. Despite an hour of alterations Kanji can’t see any difference between the suit now and when he first saw it. Not that he’d say that when Sylas can hear him. 

The outfit is a vast improvement over the Parade costume. The shirt is a purple brocade with a pattern picked out in gold thread, the suit coat and pants a dove grey linen with a thread count so high it feels like water under his hands. There’s a slight iridescence to the jacket as well, and Kanji takes a moment to turn in the mirror, watching the way it catches the light. Butter soft black leather shoes complete the look and he can’t help but think it’s a shame this will only be worn once before ending up in a museum. Rise is sneakily trying to reach his hair again and he jerks away. “If it ain’t better now it ain’t gettin better, alright?” 

Rise pouts and pokes him in the temple instead. “Fine, have bad hair.” She looks over at Sylas, expression pleading. “Can I go help Georgie instead? I want to see how her heels look with her dress.”

“No, you may not. You’ll see them when she’s on stage just like everyone else.” Sylas gets up with a stretch, and for the first time Kanji notices how tired he looks. It must be a nightmare, having to make all this stuff without being able to tailor in advance. “Please fetch the sunglasses I had made - they’re in the thing next to the jewelry stand.” He waves vaguely in the direction of the massive closet.

“The jewelry stand on the shelf or the jewelry stand that’s actually a thing in a drawer?” Free of Rise’s poking, Kanji flops onto the couch with a sigh, only to see Sylas glaring at him. _Don’t make your stylist angry, Kanji._ Naoto’s voice echoes through his head and he stands back up. “There’s too many things in here, Sylas!”

“The glasses case, Rise! There should only be one!” Sylas stomps over, muttering under his breath about overexcitable assistants. Kanji watches him go, a bad idea forming in his mind. Sylas and Rise are busy, and there’s no one watching. Before he can waste any thinking about it he’s across the room, hand reaching for the doorknob. If he’s gonna escape he has to do it right now, he can’t waste a second. The door swings open just as he’s about to open it and Naoto walks right into him, yelping and tipping backwards as she tries to catch her balance. Kanji swears and lunges, catching her hands before she… doesn’t fall. She catches herself with a half step backwards and is looking down at their hands in confusion. “What -”

Kanji lets go of her hands like she’s poisonous and marches back into the room, hoping she can’t see how red his face is. “I was looking for the bathroom! Why’re you here?”

He hears the click of heels as Naoto follows him, the clink of a buckle as she sets down her purse. Out of the corner of his eye he can see that she’s wearing a strapless midnight blue ball gown that matches her eyeshadow and his hand flies to pinch his nose to keep it from bleeding. Her grey eyes flick up and down in appraisal. “You’re my tribute, I’m here to offer any last minute advice. What’s wrong with your nose?”

“Nothing.” He drops his hand. “Thought I was gonna sneeze.” He’s doing his best to look anywhere but at her but it’s harder than usual. Her heels seem to be even higher than her usual shoes. “How’s Georgie doing?”

Naoto sighs, sitting carefully on the couch. She reaches instinctively for the brim of her hat and stops when she realizes it isn’t there, settling for crossing her arms instead. “Poorly. Public speaking is a fear of hers, which Verdant and I were unaware of. I came to check on you when it became clear that my suggestions were being ignored. Verdant is with her now.” 

Kanji nods in understanding. Awkward though she may be, Naoto doesn’t have problems with public speaking. “I’ll take those suggestions if you’ve got em.”

“Trust Caesar,” she says. “Let him lead you through the conversation, and respond to his questions like you would if it were an uncle asking.”

He's about to ask if she can be more specific since he doesn’t actually have an uncle when Sylas walks back in, brandishing a purple glasses case. “Sorry for the wait - Oh Naoto! See, I told you that dress would look amazing on you. I don’t know what you were complaining about.” Sylas can’t see Naoto’s reaction, standing in front of Kanji like he is, but Kanji can. He watches as her shoulders slump and her expression turns self conscious. 

He takes the glasses from Sylas, slipping them on before his Stylist decides to do that himself. They sit a little low on his nose so he's looking over them rather than through but they look good. Tie the look together. “Thanks, Sylas.”

An Avox opens the door, beckoning for Kanji to follow her. Rise whoops in excitement, clapping her hands. “It’s showtime! Places everyone!”

...xXx…

Kanji hadn't given a lot of thought as to how exactly the back of house stuff for the interviews worked - because seriously, who thought about that shit? - but he’d have expected the Capitol to come up with a more complicated system than “everybody go stand in a line.” But no, here they are, standing and waiting while their mentors and coordinators chat with each other and eat canapes while Peacekeepers patrol the room.

Ken is one of the last tributes to arrive, chatting with Akihiko. Kanji can pinpoint the moment Ken sees him - he looks away, fiddles with the collar of his orange dress shirt like he wants to hide behind it. Kanji doesn’t look at him as he passes, resolving to stay as far from him as possible in the arena.

Every three minutes the crowd outside roars as the next tribute is called for their interview, and although Kanji does his best to pay attention he can’t keep the names of the other tributes straight in his head. It’s hard to concentrate with Georgie’s constant muttering, no matter how hard he tries to tune her out. She’s doing math under her breath about how long it will be until her turn and eventually the boy from Seven whips around, screaming at her to shut up or she’ll be the first person he comes for in the arena. The Peacekeepers rush to separate them, pulling the boy out of line to stand on his own. Georgie falls into a petrified silence that even Caesar can’t coax her out of after that.

By the time his name is called Kanji’s been in line for so long that his nervousness has burned off, replaced by a desperate desire to just get this over with. Like the other mentors, Naoto walks out with him before slipping away behind the stage to wait for him on the other side. She might wish him good luck - he thinks she does - but it’s swallowed up by Caesar Flickerman’s voice. “Now! From District Eight, Kanji Tatsumi!”

The stage is shaking under his feet with the sound of the trumpets, the screams of the crowd, and he’ll have to thank Sylas for the sunglasses because he’s sure he’d be blind without them. Caesar is waiting for him on stage, sunflower yellow hair and lipstick resplendent under the lights. Kanji shakes his hand and waves to the crowd like Sylas told him to, settling in the chair across from Caesar. Caesar leans forward the second he does, grinning at him. “So, Mr. Tatsumi. What’s the first thing you noticed about the Capitol when you arrived? What’s the most different thing from back home?”

Kanji’s got enough sense not to give the honest answer: no one’s starving in the streets here, and everything’s a million times cleaner. Especially the air. Kanji grins, adjusting himself so he’s sitting more comfortably in the chair: slouched over with his elbows on his knees, just like he would sit in his living room. He thinks he can hear Azalea losing his mind backstage. “Well, I haven’t had any commissions since I got here. That’s new.”

Caesar frowns in curiosity, chin resting in his hand. “Commissions you say? Tell me more.” 

Kanji lets his smile turn proud. “Ma and I have a textile shop back home. I make knitted toys, best in the District. ‘S weird, not having a project to work on. Not sure what to do with my hands now.”

The room dissolves into awws when he talks about the shop, and Caesar gasps. “Handmade knitted toys? I’d have thought you’d be hauling bolts of cloth, shoulders like those.” Laughter this time, and Kanji has to fight not to try and hide his blush.

“Nah, I’m too good with my hands for that. Actually got one of the toys with me as my token, wanna see it?” He turns to address the audience, and his stomach turns at the way they all cheer. 

Caesar looks delighted and straightens up, hands cupped. “Absolutely!” Kanji reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny pink bunny rabbit, the first toy he ever made. He sets it in Caesar’s hands, heart hammering as he does so. No one else has held it since his father and handing it over feels wrong. Caesar makes sure everyone gets a good view of it before handing it back to him, beaming from ear to ear. “That’s simply wonderful! You're a very talented man, Kanji, you should be proud.” 

Kanji hopes his smile looks bashful rather than nauseous as he tucks it away. “I’ll make you one if I win, how about that?”

Caesar gasps before cackling in delight. “You have a deal!” He takes Kanji’s hand to shake and stands up just as the buzzer sounds on his interview. “Ladies and gentlemen, Kanji Tatsumi!” Kanji bows and waves, clearing the stage so the next tribute can have their turn. As he’s leaving he sees Naoto looking out at him from the curtains, a look of understanding on her face that does more to settle his stomach than the ginger tea Azalea hands him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has gone through what is possibly the most revision of anything I've ever written. CW for uncomfortable conversations.

The sleeplessness Kanji had been dreading has finally arrived. No matter what position he’s in, sleep won’t come. Even with the blinds down and the lights off everything feels too bright. The room feels too warm with a blanket and too cold without it, and the drumming of the rain outside is somehow both too loud and too quiet at the same time. He gives up around one am, throwing off the sheets and padding towards the elevator in his pyjamas. The older Avox tries to follow him but Kanji waves him off. “I’m fine, go back to bed.” Just because he can’t sleep doesn’t mean the other man needs to be awake too. 

The rain is stronger up here but not hard enough to drive him back inside. It’s not much more than a drizzle, really. Kanji meanders between the perfumed flower beds, letting his mind wander when he spots a small form leaning against the ledge that borders the garden with their arms crossed, looking out into the city. He thinks it’s Ken with how long the hair is, but he can’t be sure from this far away. And yeah, maybe the kid wants to be alone, but they were friends, even if only for a couple days. The least he can do is check on the guy.

He's surprised when Naoto turns to look at him as he approaches, clearly surprised as well. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be resting.” Now that he’s closer he can see that her hat is sitting next to her on the ledge, lying on what looks like her notebook. Kanji shrugs and wipes the rain off the ledge so he can join her, folding his arms on the concrete. 

“Couldn’t sleep. Why’re you up here?” The soft lights of the garden paint her features, and with the way he's hunched over he can see Naoto’s face straight on rather than from an angle. Her scar is longer than he thought, and looks deeper too. The memory of her rising out of the foam, gasping for air fills his mind.

“I came here the night before my own Games,” Naoto says, distracting him from the memory. She turns to look at him and Kanji wonders how he’s supposed to stare down death when just looking her in the eye is unnerving. “You did well in your interview. The audience loved you.”

He knows that it’s a good thing but the comment makes Kanji scowl. “I hated it,” he says flatly. “Maybe not in the moment but after. My token, my life… didn’t feel right, talking about ‘em like that. Like I was a story instead of a person. Something for them to gawk at. I’d never shown my token to anyone but my dad before, you know? Ma hadn’t even seen it. Was private. But it’s not like how I feel matters - whatever it takes to bring me home, right?” His voice is bitter and he doesn’t realize he’s started shouting until the last word echoes back to him. 

Naoto swallows, adjusting her grip on her elbows. “I know what you mean. I am a very private person, and when Verdant explained to me that I would have to tell the audience about myself, have to try and _sell_ myself, I balked. The Capitol is so different from home, I was afraid that if I was simply myself I wouldn’t meet their expectations. So I tried to project the image of someone who was in control, who knew exactly what to do and what to say. I believed I had done a good job. And then I came back...” She shakes her head. “I’m going to try and bring you home, Kanji. The charade you have to play is worth it if it brings you home.”

Kanji watches her, turning the words over in his mind and thinking about how they don’t match the way her voice catches at the end. He knows Naoto, even if only a little. At the very least he knows how she speaks, and it sounds like she’s trying to convince herself as much as she’s trying to convince him. “Can I ask you something?”

Naoto nods and pushes herself away from the ledge, straightening up to her full height. “What do you want to know?” 

Kanji meets her eyes with a confidence he doesn’t feel. “The uh… the thing I made for you. Why did you want it?”

“Why are you asking me this?” Her voice is perfectly controlled, as schooled as her expression. She’s gotten better since her interview. 

Kanji’s confidence fails and he drops her gaze, choking down a wave of guilt. “You just called all this a charade and … You’re different here. Back home you wore them all the time but here you don’t, and I thought that was ‘cus of what you said about Stylists but now you said that and I ain’t sure, and I’m never gonna get another chance to ask.” He sighs. “I wanna understand, I guess.”

Naoto lets out a slow breath through her nose, her knuckles flushing white from the force of her grip. “Leveraging your mortality to force an answer to a private question isn’t fair to me, Kanji. I don’t want to answer if your only reason for asking is that you may die. If your desire to understand is genuine, and the context of your inquiry were different then perhaps I would answer, but now-” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t know how to explain myself here.”

Kanji looks down at his knees, fiddling with the sleeve of his sleepshirt. “How’d you have explained it, if I’d asked the right way?”

Naoto’s quiet for a long time. The rain is coming down harder now, water dripping off the end of her nose. “I would have gone to your shop just before closing and asked you to come to my home for tea the next day.” Naoto’s voice is pensive, her words chosen with care. “I’d have shown you the library.”

“You have a library?” 

It may be the light but he thinks he sees her smile. “It was the first thing I did when I moved into Victor’s Village. I moved all my grandfather’s books into the study, and ordered every mystery novel I could from the Capitol.” 

“Hope you asked ‘im first. Kinda rude otherwise.” 

Naoto chuckles at that. “You’re right, that would have been rude.” She puts her hat back on and hops off the ledge, standing in front of him. “We should go inside. It wouldn’t do for you to catch a cold right before entering the arena.” Kanji nods and stands to follow her back to the elevator. He shivers when the wind picks up and hunkers forward. She’s right - the last thing he wants is to deal with a head cold on top of everything else.

“Naoto?” She looks up, eyebrows raised in question. “I’m sorry,” he says. “For asking that.” 

Naoto nods and looks back to the elevator display. “Thank you for apologizing,” she says. The ride back to their flat is silent, but when he tries to sleep again it comes easily. 

...xXx…

Time is an illusion. It feels like he’s being shaken awake by the Avox twelve seconds after falling asleep, and the next thing he knows he and Naoto are walking to the hovercraft in the early morning light. She looks like herself today, cap and blue peacoat firmly in place against the wind. Kanji, on the other hand, has never felt less like himself. 

He’s been dressed in the same style of robe he wore that first day in the prep room and he’s wondering if this is all some sort of sick joke. Naoto assured him that this was normal and that his clothes would be waiting for him at the arena but this just feels rude. The Peacekeepers following behind them in case Kanji tries to make a run for it are completely unnecessary. Where’s he gonna run in his underwear?

Naoto stops walking abruptly, her hands in her pockets. “This is as far as I can go,” she says. 

Kanji turns to look at her, his mouth dry as he nods. “Thank you, Naoto. For everything.” He gives her a nod and turns to walk away when a hand darts out and catches the edge of his sleeve. When he looks back, Naoto’s looking directly into his eyes. 

“Give them everything, Kanji,” she says, her voice urgent. “Everything.” 

The Peacekeepers push him forward before he can reply, away from her and towards the hovercraft. Their fingers catch for just a moment before he has to let go and the reality of what’s happening hits him then. He tries to watch her over his shoulder - his last link to the outside world - for as long as he can before boarding the hovercraft, but the Peacekeepers block his view. His body freezes when he grabs the ladder and the panic is starting to rise in his throat. The ladder begins to retract, and as it lifts him from the ground he closes his eyes in surrender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took six chapters, but we're getting into the meat of what I'm excited to write about. I never expected this fic to be this long, but I've been having a lot of fun with it. Thank you as always to my friend who improves the quality of the story with every conversation we have about it.
> 
> POV switch next chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

Naoto is glad the Peacekeepers don’t follow them any further than the entrance to the landing pad. For the first time since the Reaping they’re not playing the role of mentor and they can’t stomach the thought of anyone seeing the way their hands tremble. They _should_ be relieved: the lying is over, but as they walk away Naoto’s stomach turns and they try to convince themselves it won’t be their fault when Kanji Tatsumi dies.

What they feel is the farthest thing from relief. 

When they first began mentoring, Naoto had believed that if something went wrong it was due to a fault on their end. The result of a lack of foresight, something that could be corrected in the future. And so they had planned, had strategized. Watched through more than a dozen previous Games, had assured their tributes that they would do everything they could to bring them home and meant every word. And then Titus Martin of District Six had begun eating his victims and everything crumbled to ash. Three years on and they know better: even if Kanji were to make it through the bloodbath, anything they do for him would only be delaying the inevitable, only -

It takes Naoto a minute to realize the irritatingly loud marimba tune they’ve been hearing is coming from their pocket. Naoto grabs their phone, frantically looking to see if there’s anyone around. All clear. “Chie, I asked you to stop changing my phone settings. When did you even do this?”

“If the ringtone isn’t obnoxious you don’t answer,” says Chie, completely ignoring their question. “Where are you right now? My last hovercraft just left.”

Naoto stops and looks around. “The intersection of -“

“Landmarks?”

“...The tribute tower is behind me to my right and the betting square is a block up on my left.”

“Perfect, you can meet us for breakfast!” Chie’s voice tends to climb in volume when she’s excited, and it’s certainly doing so now. “Souji wanted to grab some sun before we all get locked up.” 

Naoto is about to resume walking when a thought occurs. “Is Hanamura going to be there?”

Chie’s quiet for a long time. “... Okay maybe Yosuke is going to be there.” She groans, the noise high and conflicted. “I know you don’t like him but if I have to third wheel another breakfast with him and Souji my head’ll explode. Can you please come with me? I’ll totally owe you one.” 

Naoto closes their eyes, nodding to themselves. “I’ll head to the cafe now and place your order so it’ll be ready when you arrive. Steak and eggs, right?”

Chie sighs in relief. “Yes, please. Thanks Naoto, you’re the best.” Chie hangs up and Naoto straightens up, heading towards the cafe. They only have two hours before they need to report for the Games, but that time is now going to feel like an eternity.

The problem of Yosuke Hanamura is not, in fact, Yosuke Hanamura. He’s no worse than your average Capitol citizen, if a little crass - his comment about their theoretical balls had not made for the best of first impressions. But he’s friendly enough, and genuinely seems devoted to Souji. No, the issue of Yosuke Hanamura isn’t anything that’s his fault. 

It’s his father.

Ten years ago, Mr. Hanamura had a career as a highly gifted architect. His success led to an invitation to join the Gamemakers Guild, and like any good Panemian citizen who valued his tongue, Mr. Hanamura had accepted the invitation enthusiastically and without delay. Capitol attitudes were changing, and interior arenas were coming into vogue. Apparently the good citizens of Capitol had grown bored of watching children be butchered alongside idyllic streams and gently rolling hills. Bleak and oppressive interior environments were what they wanted, and a good architect was needed to provide them. 

Although never more than a low ranking Gamemaker, Mr. Hanamura had designed the layout of several of the last few arenas. The school on whose roof Souji had won his life in the fog filled nightmare of his arena. The lavish castle where Chie made good on her promise to return to Yukiko. Even Naoto’s own laboratory, deep beneath the earth - they were all his creations. His design. And it’s not Yosuke’s fault, but the knowledge can make sitting with him a little hard to stomach. 

They don’t know how Souji manages it, but that’s not really their concern.

...xXx...

Although the Games don’t start until noon, the streets are already full of revellers. The holiday atmosphere is never present in the Districts but it’s in full effect here in the Capitol. Streamers, balloons, and posters of the tributes festoon every flat surface. A huge countdown to when the Games begin ticks down on every billboard. Passersby who recognize them stop and shake their hand, asking for autographs and offering well wishes and congratulations. “Happy Hunger Games! Happy Hunger Games!” The words echo off the walls, resound from people up and down the street. Naoto’s face feels like it’s going to break under the weight of the smile they force, and when they’re released from the crowd they hurry away. 

Souji and Yosuke are sitting in the window of the cafe, Yosuke’s younger brother Teddie sitting next to them. Teddie is the first one to see them and stands up, waving excitedly. “Naoto! Naoto, come sit with us!” Yosuke and Souji look up from where they’ve been absorbed in each other and wave as well, and when Naoto smiles this time it’s easier. They don’t feel like they’re going to break under the weight of it. 

It doesn’t stop their brain from kicking into high gear, though. _Souji Seta, District 6. Victor of the 49th Hunger Games. Fog arena, specializes in two handed weapons. Several tributes died of respiratory failure due to the fog; hair turned grey due to stress._ A bell rings gently when someone opens the door for them and draws Naoto back to the present - they rush through the door, blushing. The employee behind the counter smiles when they come in. “Shirogane! Happy Hunger Games!”

“Happy Hunger Games,” they call back as they take off their hat. “May I please-”

“Earl grey tea and a ham and cheese croissant are already being prepared.” He smiles as he hands a paper bag to another customer. “Seta told me you and Satonaka were on the way. Your order will be ready in just a minute.” 

Naoto looks over their shoulder at Souji, who is doing a remarkably good job of looking innocent. They frown and turn back. “How -“

“It’s Game day - mentors eat free. You got tributes goin in, don’t gotta worry about the bill.” He leans forward against the counter. “But uh, in your professional opinion, where’s the smart money? I got three grand on District One.”

Only years of practice keeps Naoto’s expression from souring. “I don’t bet against my District,” they say simply. The employee tilts his head and nods, and they slip away before he can say anything more. 

Souji smiles when Naoto approaches, ducking under a hug from Teddie to get into their seat. “Good morning.”

“Morning. How’d you sleep?” Souji pushes a bowl full of cream and sugar towards them as tea is set in front of them. Naoto murmurs a thanks to the Avox who hands them their tea and begins fixing their drink.

“Poorly. You?” The look on Souji’s face says it all. Sleep doesn’t come easy to anyone the night before the Games. Yosuke, on the other hand, frowns, looking concerned.

“You didn’t sleep? You told Ted you were fine.” He reaches for Souji’s forehead, presumably to check for fever. Souji is quicker, catching Yosuke’s hand and kissing his knuckles. Naoto blushes and looks away to see Teddie looking positively nauseated. 

“I’m fine, partner,” Souji murmurs. “I promise.” Yosuke melts and Teddie is now pretending to puke into his oatmeal. 

“What happened to waxing rhapsodic about the beauty of love?” In all the time Naoto’s known him, this is the longest Teddie’s gone without trying to hit on them. Naoto isn’t sure if Teddie’s flirting is due to them being the same age or not, but it’s been a hallmark of their friendship since the beginning.

Teddie shakes his head, looking offended. “Those, sweet Naoto, were the words of a boy. A foolish child lost in the fields of his own self importance. But I am a man now, and have outgrown such habits.” He tosses his hair dramatically, whatever procedure he had done making sparkles trail behind it in the light. “Now, would you care to discuss adult topics? Taxes, perhaps? Real estate?” 

Naoto laughs at that, taking a sip of their tea. Yosuke is looking like he wants to throttle Teddie, but that isn’t really anything new. “His nineteenth birthday was last week and he’s been insufferable ever since. Just ignore him.” Teddie clutches his chest like he’s been shot. 

The bell rings again, a loud clattering announcing Chie’s arrival. Naoto and Yosuke turn to welcome their friend, Souji getting up so he can pull Chie’s chair out for her. “Thanks Souji,” she says as she sets her crutches aside. “Morning guys!”

_Chie Satonaka, District Nine. Victor of the Fifty First Hunger Games. Castle arena, specializes in hand to hand combat. Suffered a brain bleed during the final confrontation._ Chie waves her hand in front of Naoto’s face, derailing their train of thought. She smiles softly, chuckling. “You okay in there?”

Naoto nods, hiding behind their tea. “Yes, I’m sorry. How did your tributes handle the hovercraft?”

Chie winces, reflexively thanking the Avox when they deposit her breakfast in front of her. Steak and eggs, just like she wanted. “Chesher cried when he had to board. It’s his sister’s birthday today, and his score wasn’t very good.” She shakes her head, biting her lip. Souji reaches over and squeezes her shoulder - Chie grabs his hand, just for a moment, before digging in properly.

Naoto looks down at their plate, their appetite gone. They push it towards Chie, who murmurs in thanks and adds it to her plate. Yosuke makes a face and looks like he’s about to say something, but a look from Souji stops him. Teddie’s looking between them all, blue eyes worried. “Do you want a hug, Chie?”

She smiles, swallowing her bite. “Before we leave, Ted, sure. How’ve you guys been?”

Those are the magic words - Yosuke launches into a long and very involved story about his new apartment and how much he hates his neighbours. Teddie chimes in every now and then, his comments always causing another minutes long word spiral from Yosuke and it’s all so normal. A conversation that could happen anywhere when five friends meet up, and it’s this normalcy that makes reporting to the ready room all the more painful.

Mentors are required to be in the room one hour before the Games begin. As Naoto hangs up their coat and checks that their clothes have been delivered to their assigned bunk, Kanji will be getting dressed in his arena clothes, hopefully having something to eat and drink as the hour counts down. Sylas will be there to help him get ready, and Naoto hopes for Kanji’s sake his bedside manner has improved since Naoto competed. 

The mentoring centre is large and circular, with a central television across from the entrance and several smaller banks of televisions around the room, organized by District, with everything the mentors will need to allocate sponsorships. The central television displays what the viewers at home see, but the smaller ones will each show a feed of a specific tribute for their mentors to monitor. A large display by the entrance shows the levels of sponsorship money currently available. Despite being arranged by District all the mentors are milling about, chatting with each other and grabbing snacks from the buffet table or making use of the open bar. Chie described it once as being like a sleepover, and Naoto will have to take her word for it. They’ve never been to one.

Each person they look at, details of their Games run through Naoto’s mind, and it isn’t until one of the mentors from District Four bumps into them that their brain unsticks and they’re able to move. Chie and Souji are social butterflies, chatting with everyone they see, but Naoto makes their way to District 9’s little section, sitting down on the couch and sighing. Chie is the only living Victor from her District, and she, Naoto, and Souji have all taken the space over during previous years. It’s not like there’s anyone around to tell them not to, especially given their District’s luck. 

Well, almost no one.

The scent of beer tickles Naoto’s nose and they tilt their head back to find Tohru Adachi - Victor of the 39th Hunger Games - leaning over them. They can feel his breath on their face with how close Adachi is leaning, but they can’t move without knocking into him. “Hello Adachi. Are the refreshments to your liking?”

“Always are. How about you, hm? Can I get you a drink?” His uneven fringe is practically brushing their nose and Naoto feels a shiver run down their spine with the proximity. 

While nearly all Victors have been forced to kill, there is a subset who had revelled in the violence of their arena. Adachi is one such, and worse. Those who kill their District partners are reviled in both their District and the Capitol alike, and Adachi had drowned Mayumi Yamano, in his own words, just because she was there. Afterward he had deliberately sought out other female tributes in a way not seen before or since in the Games, nearly decapitating Saki Konishi when he won. Naoto swallows. “I’m alright, thank you. How do you see your prospects this year?”

Adachi sneers and leans back, taking a long gulp of beer. Just like that, his interest is lost. “Fuck you’re boring. Why’d you always gotta be such a killjoy, Shirogane? Little fun won’t hurt ya.” He shakes his head and mutters to himself as he wanders away, sitting down next to Gaius and Sasha of District Five. Naoto’s shoulders relax a little when Adachi leaves, but tense again when they see how Sasha flinches away when Adachi sits on her other side, boxing her in between them. 

Chie and Souji join them not long after, Souji carrying a pitcher of water and three glasses. His eyes are fixed on Adachi. “What did he want?” 

“To get me drunk.” Naoto is still watching them when Souji hands them a glass and Chie sits next to them. 

Chie chudders. “I don’t know how you can stand working with him, Souji. He’s so creepy.” Souji shakes his head and sits down across from them, downing his water like it’s vodka. 

It’s not long before the anthem begins to play and everyone turns to the main screen. Caesar Flickerman and his co-host, a man known only as Tanaka, appear, smiling widely at the camera. “Hello everyone! Happy Hunger Games! I hope you’re as excited as we are because the Games are about to begin!”

The other screens in the room all turn on at the same time, each showing the same, incredibly close up image of individual starting platforms. Naoto sees Verdant lean forward from his spot on the District Eight couch, eyes fixed on the left hand screen. Waiting for Georgie to emerge. Kanji’s platform is still empty, but Naoto finds themselves watching it nonetheless.

Tanaka and Caesar are chatting with each other, summarizing the tribute scores for anyone who may have forgotten. A three minute timer ticks down behind them, flashing red when it passes the two minute mark. Chie has gone entirely still next to Naoto, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She has a red headband clutched in one hand, thumb rubbing back and forth across the surface. At two minutes thirty seconds the countdown flashes red again, and on the smaller screens a message displays. Tubes ready, tributes in transit in twenty seconds.

Nobody is moving in the ready room, now. The relaxed atmosphere of earlier is dead and gone as they watch the countdown, waiting for their tributes to emerge.

Two minutes ten seconds. The message changes and Naoto leans forward, watching as Kanji rises into the arena on his platform. He’s dressed rather strangely - simple grey pants and a loose, forest green tunic. No hat, no gloves, but strong looking leather boots that reach almost to his knees. They open their mouth - to ask their friends what they think of the outfits, maybe? - when the yell of another mentor cuts them off.

“Fuck off! That’s not fair! That’s not fuckin fair!” 

The arena is on full display on the main screen and Naoto has to agree - the layout is unfair. The cornucopia and the podiums are on an outcropping, surrounded by crumbling stone ruins. A larger structure is off in the background, but the immediate concern is that part of the outcropping the podiums are on seems to be a sheer drop. A quarter of the podiums back onto a cliff, leaving the tributes with no choice but to run towards the cornucopia rather than away. The girl from One, the boy from Seven, and Georgie are among those stuck with nowhere to run but forward. Kanji is on the far side, a path stretching down a hill behind him. All the tributes are looking around, trying to get their bearings. Above the tail of the cornucopia, a countdown ticks away.

29\. 28. 27. Chie’s eyes are fixed on her screen, lips moving slightly as she whispers to herself. “Come on baby, come on baby…”

20\. 19. 18. Souji scrambles off the couch to sit in his own section so he can see his screens better. 

15\. 14. 13. Naoto is focused on Kanji. He’s bouncing on his toes, shaking out his hands. The tip of one of his token’s ears is poking from the pocket of his trousers. 

3\. 2. 1.

For Naoto, the chaos of the bloodbath had felt paradoxically slow. Every move they made had been through molasses, each second an eternity. They wonder if that’s the case for Kanji. He’s sprinting towards the cornucopia, scooping up supplies along his path. Most of the tributes are: there seems to be an unusually high number of weapons on the outer edges this year. Alliances are forming before their eyes, tributes grouping up as they prepare to make a break for it. Unfortunately, they’re not the only ones forming ranks.

The Career’s plan becomes clear as the first few seconds unfold. Lace, the girl from One, bodychecks Georgie, shoving her bodily over the cliff edge before sprinting after the boy from seven, likely to try and repeat the process. Yusuke Kitagawa, the boy from Four, is practically flying towards the cornucopia, faster than Naoto’s ever seen anyone move. Yusuke manages to scoop up a long, curved sword and immediately cut down another tribute without losing momentum. He starts barking orders, telling the other Careers to start thinning the herd.

Although they hadn’t answered the cafe employee’s question, Naoto knew the answer. Yusuke is the smart money to win.

There’s a scuffle on Kanji’s screen and Naoto’s attention is snapped away from Yusuke. Ken’s locked in a tug of war with Tyson, a massive boy from Two already equipped with a shield, trying to yank the spear out of his hands. Kanji comes up behind the Career and slams the sack he’s been filling with supplies over his head, sending him reeling. Tyson loses his grip on the spear, allowing Ken to yank it loose and start racing away from the cornucopia. Kanji tries to follow but Tyson recovers quickly, tackling Kanji and pinning him. Tyson slams the edge of his shield into Kanji’s head, cutting a deep gash above his eyebrow before sitting back on his chest, readying the killing blow.

Naoto’s on the edge of their seat. Tyson swings down with the shield only for Kanji to sit up out of the way, shoving Tyson in the chest and rolling them so Kanji’s on top instead. Blood is streaming down his face as he roars, punching Tyson in the head until he stops moving. Kanji lurches to his feet, ripping the shield off of Tyson’s arm with a sickening pop before stumbling away, grabbing his bag of supplies and fleeing.

The bloodbath rages for ten minutes, but it takes longer for Naoto to realize what precisely happened. When the fighting is done, the canons begin to sound, and around the room television screens flicker out. Both of Souji’s turn dark, one of Chie’s - eleven in all, including Tyson’s. But not the ones for District Eight. Georgie and Kanji have survived the initial slaughter, and something like fear blossoms in Naoto’s chest. They scramble from their spot next to Chie, leaning to get a better look at their monitors. Georgie is lying unconscious at the bottom of the ravine, her legs bent at horrifying angles. Kanji is sliding down a muddy hill, tripping upright and running as soon as he gets his feet under him.

A trail of crimson follows his every step, path to follow for anyone who wishes to look. 

He needs a suture kit, antiseptic, bandages. If he keeps bleeding he’ll be found for sure. Naoto looks to the sponsorship board, heart in their throat. Tyson’s dead - Kanji killed him. Money is beginning to trickle in. They told Kanji they would try to bring him home.

It’s time to keep their promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we get into the Capitol focused aspects of this fic, I'll be adding several tags as we go. While forced prostitution is a facet of the series, I won't be touching on it directly in this fic, as I believe it would deserve more careful attention than it could be afforded in the context of this story. General content warning for upcoming depictions of self harm, transphobia, and policing of gender. Tags will be applied when the subjects come up directly.


	8. Chapter 8

By the time Naoto sets the phone down their neck is aching and they’re regretting their choice of earrings. Which is hardly the most pressing concern, but the thought lingers as they grab some coffee. They had been surprised by how many people had called in, asking if he was the Tatsumi of Tatsumi textiles. His shop's work was apparently well known in the Capitol, and confirming his identity had seen the people on the other end of the phone rushing for their wallets. Kanji’s sponsorship numbers have been creeping steadily up, and according to the Game’s pricing scheme they should have enough for a suture kit and some bandages, perhaps even a low grade antiseptic. Now if only he would stop walking, Naoto would be able to take the next step. 

When preparing to be a mentor, Naoto had broken down the first day of the Hunger Games into four informal phases. The first three were the bloodbath, inventory, and distancing. Kanji had chosen to prioritize distancing over inventory, and has been slowly descending into a valley since escaping the bloodbath. He’s still bleeding, and had sacrificed his tunic in an attempt to try and stem the flow.

The sharp spike in donations Kanji received when his shirt came off made Naoto’s stomach turn.

Coffee and two doughnuts in hand, Naoto leaves the buffet table behind to make their way back to Chie, who gives them a small nod in acknowledgement when they hand her the second doughnut. Mara, Chie’s female tribute, had survived the bloodbath but hadn’t taken anything from the cornucopia. From what Naoto can tell she's moving through a forest on Chie's monitor. “How’s she doing?”

Chie shrugs. “Should survive the night if she doesn’t run into anyone.” She doesn’t look away from the screen as she takes a bite of the doughnut. “Yours?”

“There’s nothing I can do until he stops to take inventory. I don’t want to use the sponsorship money until I know what he has.” And he would have to stop soon. In addition to the blood loss and probable concussion, Naoto believed Kanji was swiftly becoming hypothermic. The arena was cold, only about ten degrees and filled with misting rain, and as such Kanji’s bandaging strategy was working against him. He was hunched over and shivering, clutching the bundle of supplies against his chest and using the shield as an ineffective windbreak. 

Chie’s eyes flick briefly away from Mara’s screen to Kanji’s. “I dunno, you could probably afford to get him a shirt. He definitely needs one of those.” Naoto adjusts their bolo tie and says nothing.

It’s another hour before Kanji stumbles into what could generously be called a hovel. According to the map on the central screen he’s reached the nadir of the arena, a collection of rotted buildings next to a rapidly flowing river. Kanji collapses to the ground once he’s inside, crawling to rest against a wall. He tosses the sack aside and just sits there for a few minutes, catching his breath. Naoto can understand, really, they can, _but open the bag Kanji, come on!_

As though he’s deliberately trying to spite them the first thing he does is, infuriatingly, inspect the shield. The surface is highly mirrored, presumably to make it easier for others to track, and he’s able to get a good look at himself. It’s not pretty. The left side of his face is heavily bruised and covered in blood, the eye completely swollen shut, and when he pulls the ruined shirt off from around his head the gash is deeper than Naoto had feared. Kanji hisses through his teeth as he tries to get a better look and eventually gives up, gingerly feeling along the edges of the shield. “What kinda sick fuck makes the edges sharp?”

He moves onto the bag next, pulling out the things he had collected. It’s a good haul, all told: a small knife, a pair of heavy but unfortunately broken binoculars, an empty backpack, some matches, a tiny bottle of iodine, several pieces of hardtack and two bags of jerky. There’s a bottle of water that Kanji immediately downs half of before using the rest to clean the worst of the blood off his face. No medical supplies, and no extra clothing. Naoto closes their eyes, mentally prioritizing where the money will go. If the shirt can be salvaged...

The sound of ripping pulls Naoto’s mind away from prices, and when they refocus Kanji’s cutting holes in the burlap sack his supplies had been in, pulling it over his head. Clothing problem solved, at least for now. He grabs a hardtack biscuit and starts chewing, scrutinizing himself in the shield’s surface again. This, Naoto decides, is as good a time as any. 

A silver parachute floats down in front of the hovel, light blinking in the mist. Kanji crawls over to it, opening the container to reveal a pack of bandages, a suture kit, and a very, very small tube of antiseptic. Kanji looks up at the sky, doing his best to smile despite looking like he's about to faint. “Thanks, Naoto,” he says. Souji and Chie give them a look - it’s unusual for a tribute to address their mentor during the Games - but Naoto ignores them, watching as Kanji begins the process of suturing his face.

They couldn’t afford any numbing cream. Hopefully Kanji can keep his hands steady.

...xXx…

Kanji passes out not long after finishing his stitches and applying the dressing, curling up in a corner of the hovel and sleeping through the national anthem and the list of the dead displayed on the rising moon. Although Kanji may have an inkling that he killed Tyson, he has no confirmation. As he sleeps, the fourth phase of the day begins, and Naoto does their best to keep calm. 

The hunt has begun. 

Once their camp is secured the Careers move out, looking for victims. Dusk is falling, and the light from campfires will be more visible in the dying light. They start close to the cornucopia, and it’s that instinct to secure the areas closest to home that spells the end of Georgie. She hasn’t moved since her fall, and when the Careers look over the edge of the cliff they see her lying there. Three arrows are loosed, one strikes home, and Georgie’s cannon fires. She never even woke up. 

Verdant doesn't make a sound when she dies, simply rises from his spot on the couch and makes his way to the bar. He stops in front of Naoto on his way, his hands trembling. “I’m sorry,” Naoto says quietly. He nods and walks away, snatching a bottle from the Avox tending bar and disappearing into the barracks. 

It’s a disappointing first night for the Careers, although in Naoto’s opinion their hesitance was well advised. The forest to the north of the cornucopia is dense and twisting, and of the seven remaining non-Career tributes, five have sought refuge there. “It was too dark in there to see anything. We’ll head back in in the morning,” says Velvet. “Get em before they wake up.” He makes good on his promise, and Mara breathes her last in the pale light of dawn. 

Chie weeps, and Naoto and Souji do their best to comfort her. Souji holds her tightly until her sobs subside while Naoto brings her a glass of water. They’ve never been good with comfort, don’t know how to put the words together the right way, but Chie smiles gratefully when they hand her the water, and takes their hand afterward.

The older Victors give them space; Chie hasn’t grown numb to the loss yet. Six years on the calluses have started to thicken around Souji’s heart, and Naoto knows that while they feel Georgie’s loss it’s not as keen as it would have been even a year ago. For Chie each death is as painful as the first, and there is nothing they can do to soften the blow. (The only one who can is waiting for her in District Nine, far, far from here). So they hold her, and hope it helps. 

...xXx…

All things considered, Kanji is extraordinarily lucky. With the Careers focused on trying to clear out the forest, he’s able to take time to recover in his little camp. He spends the next three days in the hovel, and Naoto upgrades his concussion from probable to definite. Kanji’s been sleeping for ten hours or more a day, and although he’s able to replenish his water at the river his apparent inability to light a fire means he’s burning through his supply of iodine. Additionally, despite finding fishing supplies in one of the other nearby structures Kanji makes no effort to fish. If they have to choose between buying him food and buying him more iodine Naoto will choose the iodine, but running out of supplies isn’t Kanji’s most immediate problem.

The longer he stays there the higher the chances that the Gamemakers may try to force him out of his camp, and their attempts at redirection are frequently deadly. The one thing that Kanji does that’s of any interest to the viewers at home is hum while he works. Mindless tunes that Naoto recognizes from their visits to his shop and if they don’t know how to account for the pain in their chest when they recognize the first one, well, it really can’t be helped. 

The fifth day of the Games dawns and Kanji is on the move before the sun rises - if it weren’t for the Capitol’s night vision cameras it would be almost impossible to see him. The burlap shirt is stretched over the surface of the shield to try and hide the shine, his now clean tunic back in place. His pace is achingly slow as he starts following the path back up, and Naoto can’t begin to fathom his strategy.

There is no denying that Kanji needs to move before the Gamemakers decide to move him, but his chosen path will take him directly to the Career’s camp. And with a sheer cliff to his right and the frigid river to his left there’s nowhere else for him to go. He continues to walk and Naoto wishes there was any sponsorship money left, even just enough for a cracker. Something they could put in a parachute and drop behind him as a sign that he should turn back. But there’s nothing, and so they resign themselves to watching him walk.

If his plan is to try and sneak by the cornucopia he picked the worst day to do it. The careers are hanging out there after another disappointing night of hunting. An alliance has formed between the tributes in the forest, and the perimeter is now filled with traps. Jessica, the girl from Seven, is something of a genius with them.

Lace and Velvet are bickering as Velvet changes the dressings on his now missing ear - courtesy of an aforementioned trap - and Yusuke is drawing in the dirt. His District partner Hifumi is sharpening her knife in a motion that speaks of habit more than concentration. Tysha is keeping guard. All of them are bored, and none are in high spirits. If they can get a kill today, it won’t be quick.

When Kanji comes to the foot of the hill and starts attempting to scale the cliff it’s something of a surprise. Climbing isn’t something they can imagine he’s had much experience with; there’s not really anywhere to practice in Eight. And as far as a crash course in the activity, this cliff is not an ideal learning environment. It's over a hundred vertical feet, the rocks are damp from the intermittent rain, and when he starts to climb Naoto is certain he’s going to fall to his death. Hopefully a quicker death than Georgie. 

It takes Kanji four agonizing hours to climb. He has to stop every few feet to retch as his concussion battles against the exertion. Naoto watches with their heart in their throat when his foot slips, leaving him clinging to the rock face by his fingertips, his strength threatening to fail him. Halfway up Kanji gets lucky, finding a ledge big enough to lay on and rest. The second he’s on it he collapses, holding his head and groaning. He’s shaking with exertion, muscles twitching so badly Tanaka makes a comment about him jittering right off the edge. Anti-nauseants top Naoto’s list as they watch him vomit over the edge, tears dripping off the end of his nose.

When he can move without vomiting, Kanji shakes his head, wiping his eyes and spitting to try and clear his mouth of bile. Whatever he says is so filthy the cameras cut back to the forest rather than broadcast it, but Naoto watches as he staggers upright on their own screen. He leans against the wall before reaching up, straining to pull himself farther up. 

His determination earns him a lot of sponsorship money, and when he finally mantles over the edge of the cliff he flops onto his back, arms spread eagled to the sides. A few moments later a silver parachute lands on his face, making him burst into laughter. And while the rational part of Naoto is horrified because the sound will carry, a smaller part of them is wondering if this will be the last time he ever makes the sound.

Kanji sits up slowly and opens the pod, revealing a thermos full of ginger tea and three warm bread rolls. “Didja drop this on my face on purpose? Thought ya didn’t like being rude.” The camera zooms right in for a close up of his smile as he takes a sip. The sunlight emphasizes his cheekbones and brow-line, and Naoto’s blood boils as they watch the trickle of sponsorships turn into a flood. 

This is wrong. All of this is wrong, and there is nothing they can do but participate. They want to scream, want to throw something, want to let their control break at the injustice of all this. Kanji shouldn’t have had to spend the last four hours pushing himself to the limits of his exertion; he should be home, with his mother, humming while he works on a project. He’s attractive, yes, but still so, so young, and Naoto knows the people throwing money at him for taking his shirt off are at least twice his age and likely more.

People shouldn’t be paying because they thought his pain - _pain the Capitol had caused, they did this, they put him there_ \- was satisfying to watch. Naoto gets off the couch and leaves the ready room for a walk for the first time in days. Kanji will be fine - the only other tribute in this quadrant of the map is Ken, and they’re nowhere near each other. 

The walk is brief, barely long enough to get their blood pumping, but enough to tamp down their anger into a more manageable state. Which turns out to be a good thing, as the Chie and Souji turn to them the moment they arrive back.

"They're flooding the arena."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remain unhappy with my use of the word "nadir" but I couldn't find a better one.


	9. Chapter 9

Despite what Yosuke may claim, Naoto doesn’t enjoy being right as much as he thinks they do. If Kanji hadn’t left that morning he would certainly have been the fourth death that day. 

Yusuke hadn’t been drawing in the dirt out of boredom- he’d been constructing a map complete with demographics that the rest of the pack help him fill in. They know there’s no one in the valley behind the cornucopia. They’d killed Georgie and after days of thorough searching hadn’t uncovered anyone else. There were five tributes in the forest behind an as yet impenetrable wall of traps, and a problem for another day.

Through their brainstorming they come to consensus on the probable locations of Ken and Kanji, and decide to strike out for Kanji first. He had killed one of their own and was injured to boot, making him both easy and personally satisfying prey. Unfortunately for them, Kanji has already been climbing for forty five minutes by the time they set out. 

It doesn’t take them long to find the trail he took down to the rotting village, and with a quiet word from Yusuke they pick up the pace. Naoto, Chie, and Souji all share a smile when they hear Elizabeth, one of the mentors from One, swearing at the tv and begging them to look up. “You can see his feet!” She yells. “He’s just sitting up there!” True enough, Kanji is eating the rolls and drinking his tea, recklessly enjoying the view. The Careers remain oblivious, and continue descending. 

The Careers reach the hovel much faster than Kanji had and start tearing through it. They know Kanji’s been there - the ground is packed flat where he slept, and there’s footprints leading between all the other ruins. They gather to argue about where he could have gone, and it is this discussion that is their fatal mistake. Their boots are strongly waterproofed, and it isn’t until Velvet lunges at Hifumi that they notice the water level has been rising. Of course, as soon as they realize this the Gamemakers turn the taps on full.

The water surges up to their knees and the Careers start to run, sprinting as best they can back up the hill to their camp. Yusuke is of course in the lead, followed closely by Hifumi. Velvet and Tysha are trailing toward the back, the water beginning to overtake them. When Hifumi trips and goes sprawling Naoto is certain it spells her end as the water rushes over her. 

Two cannons fire. Hifumi surfaces gracefully as a mermaid, and simply treads water until it stops rising. Of course, Naoto chastises themself. District Four, the strongest swimmers in Panem. A little water is inconsequential to them. It was an excellent move, and they turn to watch the donation meters for District Four climb. Kawakami, their mentor, smiles to herself. 

From his vantage point Kanji is able to see the water rising and swears, grabbing his supplies and racing away from the ledge as fast as he can. It proves unnecessary as the water only rises to the lip of the ridge the cornucopia sits on, but Naoto appreciates the prudence. There is a lot less room to maneuver now and it will only play to the advantage of the remaining Careers.

That night, while Kanji is huddled up under a bush trying to sleep, Ken Amada releases a mutt into the arena. He had been exploring the ruins on the top of the hill more or less since the Games began, making use of his excellent night vision to work his way through the catacombs below. He’d been prying open the coffins he’d come across, scavenging as he worked his way through. With everything happening with the Careers and the flood he hadn’t been afforded much attention on the broadcast. That changes the moment he forces open a door to reveal a massive boar. It lets out a horrible shriek and charges at him, slamming Ken into the wall behind him. 

Ken’s cannon fires, and the rest of the tributes jerk awake. The tributes in the forest are doing a headcount while Kanji tries to pull himself loose from the bush and the bottom of Naoto’s stomach falls away. The last time the Gamemakers had attempted to implement a large mutt like this had been during their Games, and they had lost control of it almost immediately. Souji’s hand closes on their shoulder and they reach up to touch it, eyes fixed on the main screen. If they look away they’ll see the worried look on Chie’s face and their composure can’t afford to take another hit. 

Mutts are regarded by mentors as one of the worst ways to die in the arena. In a situation that can be understated only as massively unfair in all regards, to be killed by a mutt feels especially so. When Akihiko stalks to the bar and demands the bartender hand over the nearest bottle, no one blames him. They’re all afraid they’ll be doing the same soon enough.

...xXx...

One of the mentors from Ten thinks the boar that just killed Hifumi was spliced with a collie somewhere during its creation. “I mean, c’mon, look at it move! It’s got herding instincts!” Naoto doesn’t care to comment, but Souji is asking questions. The woman could well be right - despite it’s growing body count the mutt seems to be trying to force the tributes together rather than actively hunting them.

It’s day eight and they’re down two more. Hifumi just went out, gored when the mutt ran into the Career pack while they were out searching for Kanji. The second death was from the forest alliance, and highlighted a problem Naoto had been unaware of. There is no apparent source of water in the forest, and the tributes there are suffering. The flood the Gamemakers had unleashed earlier had drained in the night, leaving everything down to the riverbed dry. There has been no rain or mist in two days, and according to Tanaka and Caesar the only water left in the arena is at the cornucopia.

They try to focus on that fact, but Kanji’s positioning in the competition is a distraction. He’s in the top seven, which means his mother will have been interviewed about his progress. Asked to weigh in on the whole event and if she thinks her son will come home. Naoto’s grandfather had hated it. 

Kanji’s taken to hiding near the ridge he had climbed days prior. The angle means he has a good view of everything around him, and he can try and climb down if he gets cornered. Doing so would probably kill him, but it’s the Hunger Games. Everything here will probably kill him, and at this point there’s nothing Naoto can do to help.

The longer the Games go on and the fewer tributes there are the higher the price of sponsorship gifts climbs. With the exception of District Four everyone has been priced out of sponsorships, and they had all scrambled to buy what they could before prices jumped any higher. The parachutes had descended into the arena like snow as the coffers ran dry. Elizabeth had referred to it as the Flurry, a term Naoto had never heard of before mentoring. It’s sickening, and apt. Unless a miracle happens, there will be no more gifts in the arena.  


...xXx…

Day nine. Nothing.

Day ten. Nothing.

Day eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen. Nothing nothing nothing _nothing_. Nothing is happening, no one is moving. Even the mutt is dead, impaled by one of the forest traps. Kanji’s spent the last couple days lying in the shade around the ruins because the alternative will mean seeking out the others. He drank the last of his water this morning. The kids in the forest are at the end of their rations. Yusuke and Lace have stuck to their camp, guarding their dwindling supply around the clock. 

When the Feast is announced, Naoto doesn’t think it should come as a surprise to anyone.

...xXx…

The dawn of the fifteenth day is a slaughter. Kanji had made it to the Feast location first, watched from his hiding place as the ground split in front of him to reveal a table with a single bottle of water on it. A shriek sounds from the entryway; the four tributes from the forest are standing at the entryway of the ruins, being set upon by Lace and Yusuke. Kanji sprints for the table, snatching the bottle and making a break for it. He’s able to make some good distance while the Careers carve their way through the remaining tributes, the cannons echoing as he runs. Kanji ducks behind one of the few trees and drains the bottle, choking in his desperation. There’s only three now, and Naoto’s heart is hammering so hard they’re physically shaking. 

_He could come home he could come homehecouldcomehomehecouldhomehomehomecomehomecome home-_

It isn’t until Souji squeezes their shoulder that Naoto’s able to focus on what is actually happening. Lace and Yusuke are racing out of the ruins, yelling back and forth as the wind starts to pick up. “How the fuck did you forget about him,” Lace screams. “Can’t you count?”

“Now is hardly the time -” 

Naoto swears time slows down as Kanji watches them run past him. Kawakami and the other mentors are losing their minds, screaming for the Careers to turn around or laughing at the whole situation. Apparently the Gamemakers are too because once it becomes clear Kanji has no intention of following they start dropping lightning bolts all around him. He drops the bottle and races away from the tree, and Naoto whimpers when they notice something. 

Kanji still has the shield strapped to his left arm. He’s a living lightning rod. 

The next bolt of lightning strikes right behind him and Kanji screams, tripping over his own feet and tumbling down the hill. Yusuke and Lace hear the noise and stop running, turning just in time for Kanji to slam into Lace and send the both of them careening down toward the cornucopia. A cannon goes off when they slam into a boulder and Naoto can’t breathe until Kanji shoves Lace’s body away from him and clambers upright. He’s clearly dazed but manages to get the shield up in time to deflect a strike from Yusuke’s sword.

Lightning flashes as Kanji staggers under Yusuke’s assault, the sound of the sword striking the shield almost as loud as the thunder that surrounds them. Yusuke is relentless, hammering away at the shield like he’s trying to cut it in half. All his earlier technique is forgotten as he tries to get Kanji to drop the shield, but Kanji isn’t budging. Yusuke’s next hit glances off the side and it’s here that Kanji moves. 

He rushes forward, slamming his fist into Yusuke’s jaw. Yusuke stumbles, the sword falling to his side, and he’s not able to lift it again before Kanji rams him into the cliffside, crushing the shield into his chest with the full force of his body. Naoto can see the recognition dawn on Kanji’s face as he watches the light leave Yusuke’s eyes, feels his body go limp against the wall. A cannon fires and Kanji takes a step back, watching Yusuke fall to the ground. 

Tanaka’s voice echoes throughout the arena and every home in the Capitol. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the Victor of the Fifty-fifth Hunger Games, Kanji Tatsumi!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gone back to work so updates will be less frequent, but the story won't be abandoned. I'm having far too much fun with it.


	10. Chapter 10

Naoto is staring at the screen in disbelief. Kanji is being airlifted out of the arena by a hovercraft as the feed is cut, and the room is an explosion of noise both supportive and derisive. None of it feels real until Chie tackles them in a hug, making their mind and ribs scream in protest. “He did it! He won!” She pulls away, holding Naoto at arm’s length and smiling. Naoto arranges their face into what must be a smile based on Chie’s answering grin. She grabs her crutches, backing away. “I’m gonna call Yukiko and tell her you and Kanji will be on the Victory Tour! See you at Yosuke’s!” 

They nod and wave, turning to look at Souji. He simply smiles and holds out a hand for them to shake. “Congratulations,” he says. They nod, squeezing his hand before letting go.

They don’t know how to handle a victory, but they must handle it, and as such they begin constructing steps to follow in their mind. They need control, and look desperately to the other Victors to build their roadmap. 

The first step is shaking hands. Those who remain seek them out, shaking their hand and offering congratulations with varying degrees of enthusiasm. It seems the most genuine from those in the higher Districts; an act of passive aggression towards the Career Districts, perhaps? They need more data to be sure. While the mentors from District One approach to wish them a good game, Kawakami and her partner do not. Naoto isn't sure what to do. Should they offer their condolences? Naoto's never lost a tribute that close to the end before, they're not sure what to say. Kawakami meets their eyes for a moment before looking away, and Naoto decides to leave her be.

Step two should involve informing Verdant of their win but he had vanished the moment the Games were over, and Naoto progresses to step three. Bathing to prepare for the styling Sylas will have to do. All Victors are required to be in the Capitol during the Games so they are available to give interviews, and as Kanji’s mentor Naoto knows they’ll be required to do so. Naoto digs some clothes out of their trunk, handing a slip of paper to an Avox as they head to the showers. “Please ensure my luggage is delivered to this address.” The woman nods and backs away. 

The bathroom has cleared out by the time Naoto arrives, a fact they’re grateful for. They duck into the nearest shower stall, wincing as they get a whiff of themselves. When was the last time they showered? Two days ago? Three? The answer is probably more. Once stripped to their underwear Naoto pauses, taking a moment to brace themselves before undoing their binder. They know they’ve been wearing it for far too long, and when they unzip it and look down their worst fears are confirmed.

Their skin is chafed red, a hint of bruising following the line of their ribs. A whimper slips past Naoto’s lips as they shrug their way out of their binder, folding and setting it with the rest of the clothes that need laundering. Everything it covered hurts, and tears well reflexively in their eyes as they force themselves to take the deepest breaths they can manage. They’ve been wearing one of these for years now, they know they can’t leave it on for days on end, let alone sleep in it. 

Once they can breathe more easily they step into the shower, wincing as the water hits their skin. The stinging sets their mind running again, and if not for the lights shutting off automatically they may have stood under the spray for hours trying to remember the specifics of how to treat pneumonia should it develop. After that they wash as quickly as possible and towel off, changing before stepping into the main room. Dress pants cut to accentuate their hips, a pushup bra that feels wholly unnecessary, and an emerald blouse that gives them an hourglass figure. All clothes meticulously chosen by Sylas. Their heels click as they walk to the mirror. 

This is the final part of the transformation. Naoto swaps out their earrings and takes a deep breath, meeting their own eyes in the mirror. “Hello, I’m Naoto Shirogane.”

 _Too low. Try again._ Another deep breath. “Hello, I’m Naoto Shirogane.” _Closer._ “Hello, I’m Naoto Shirogane.”

They repeat the phrase over and over, coaxing their voice higher through each repetition. Naoto nods to herself once she’s reached a register Azalea will approve of and gathers her dirty clothes. 

The moment she leaves the ready room she’s set upon by Sylas and Azalea, both talking rapidly about vastly different things, and each attempting to drag her in two a physical direction. Sylas wins, throwing her into a dress with a tasteless amount of cleavage before passing her off to Azalea to push in front of a camera. She smiles widely and does her best to stand how she’s been taught, and it is many, many hours before they stumble into Yosuke’s apartment, their feet aching terribly from the heels. 

Normally, there is a wake once they’re all together at Yosuke’s. Naoto and Souji observe their District’s mourning rituals first, Naoto weaving an intricate braid for each of their tributes, and Souji meditating in absolute stillness. Once Souji finishes, Chie leads them into a raucous, District Nine style of wake with stories and laughter and lots of dark beer. That is not the case today. Souji takes one look at how worn out and footsore Naoto is and guides them to the guest room. They’re asleep before they even hit the bed.

...xXx…

The next morning is a blur. It starts with Chie poking them awake with one of her crutches and tossing them their phone, which has apparently “been ringing non-stop for the last half an hour, and I’m really regretting setting it to the marimba now.” Once the phone is answered the person on the end - Uehara, a nurse?- is speaking what feels like a million miles an hour to Naoto’s tired brain and they’re unable to parse anything beyond the words “Kanji,” and “awake.” The moment they do Naoto is out of bed, yanking open their trunk and looking for something to wear. Chie slips out of the room, yelling something Naoto doesn’t hear in their rush to dress.

If they try and remember what leads them to Kanji’s door their mind can only produce a series of flashes. Teddie literally shoving an apple and cheese danish into their mouth. Yosuke pulling his car around. The smell of Chie's shampoo when she squashes into the car next to them. None of them have ever had a Victor before, and it is this communal atmosphere of excitement that carries Naoto all the way to the recovery ward. But not beyond it. They freeze when they look at it, their reflection staring back from the mirrored glass set into the window. 

Once the door is open, it will be the first time they will be face to face with Kanji since he left for the hovercraft. Since they asked him to come back. Naoto knows that asking anyone to try and win the Games is desperate and selfish. If Kanji asks them about it how can they explain themselves? If they tell Kanji the truth, will he want to hear it? He said on the roof that he wanted to understand, but he may have been lying. And how do you explain something that is simultaneously so personally important but so minor to everyone else around them? If he even remembered their conversation would he-

The door swings inward, Kanji standing just inside. Most of his head appears to be wrapped in bandages, and they can see more peeking out from under his shirt. His left forearm in particular is heavily bandaged and despite all the lights being off he’s wearing sunglasses. Naoto’s stomach drops as their mind begins to tread a familiar path. _Kanji Tatsumi, District 8. Victor of the 55th Hunger Games. Ruins arena, specializes in shields. Mass dehydration led to a Feast being hosted on the fifteenth day._

 _He is in this state because of you._

...xXx…

Kanji wonders if any of the meds he’s on cause hallucinations. He was told he could have visitors today, and it looks like Naoto is standing outside his room, but the key word is standing. He’d expected her to move when he opened the door, and but she’s still just standing there. Not moving, staring at him with a vacant expression. He sighs and lets the door swing closed again, rubbing the good side of his face as he limps back towards his bed. 

_He had imagined it once, back when he was in the arena. He would win the Games and come back with a dashing eyebrow scar and when he woke up Naoto would be there, flustered and happy that he’d done as she asked, gave them everything, and he would finally, finally have the courage to ask her out. He’d tell her how he felt, and ask her in the right way about the clothes he made for her, and they would drink tea and talk. Maybe he could even hold her hand as he walked her back to her house._

Hallucinations don’t seem to be as close to dreams as he thought. 

Kanji winces as he lays down, struggling to find a comfortable position. If he lies on his back he won’t aggravate any of the injuries on his face, but his back and legs will be fucked. Lying on his left side will aggravate the most injuries, but if he lies on his right he can’t see the door. What if the doctors lied about the surgery being tomorrow and he actually has to go right now? He takes the sunglasses off carefully and immediately wishes he had left them on when the door swings open.

Naoto flicks on the light as she enters and he screams, good hand flying to cover his eyes despite the pain that arcs through his body at the sudden movement. “Shut it off! Fuckin shut it off!”

“I’m sorry!” The light stops leaking through his fingers and Kanji cautiously removes his hand, putting his sunglasses back in place and patting around for the morphling button. “I didn’t realize -”

“What, you thought I was wearin em for fun?” Kanji finds the button and sighs in relief as he feels the drug start to work its way through his body. 

Naoto is quiet for a moment. “It could have been a personal habit of yours that I was unaware of.”

It’s such an absurd statement that Kanji pauses, slowly opening his eyes. From what he can see in the low light, Naoto looks uncomfortable. Her arms are wrapped around herself, and he can’t remember her posture ever being less than perfect before now. “Can’t argue with that, I guess.” He tries for a smile but doesn’t come up with much. “How bad do I look?”

“You look like you got struck by lightning and fell down a hill,” says Naoto flatly. She moves a chair closer so she can sit down, and dread rises in Kanji’s stomach when he realizes he can’t hear it scrape along the floor, that he can barely hear her. She settles her cap in her lap. “In short, dreadful.”

Kanji sighs, reaching for his glass of water before giving up and letting his arm fall. “Wouldn’t I be dead if the lightning hit me? You remember that guy from the factory a few years back?”

“Rafferty, yes. I investigated the incident.” Naoto nods, posture straightening a bit. She pushes the glass a little closer to him after a moment’s hesitation.

Kanji stares at her as he takes a drink, feeling like he’s missing something. “Thanks. Investigated?”

“My grandfather and I would investigate workplace accidents to determine if they had been staged.” There’s a look of what must be pride on Naoto’s face, and Kanji adds it to his mental catalogue of her expressions.

“In any case, my former vocation is irrelevant. You were extremely fortunate that the lightning the Gamemakers deployed was for motivation and aesthetic purposes rather than lethal ones. From what I gathered during my interview, the current travelled through the ground and up your legs, causing the muscles to lock and send you down the hill. Colliding with Lace saved your life.” Naoto reports this like she’s reading from a script. Her fingers twist the bill of her cap.

Kanji thinks of the burns on his left arm, of the sensation of slamming into the boulder and feeling Lace crumple beneath him. “Yeah,” he mutters darkly. “Real fortunate.”

He can feel Naoto’s eyes on him but doesn't meet her gaze. What’s he going to see if he looks at her now? He doesn’t want it, whatever it is. 

The silence stretches so long and so awkwardly that Kanji’s tempted to feign sleep just to get out of it. “Look, Naoto-

“I don’t know what to say to you.” When he looks over he finds that Naoto isn’t looking at him, either. There’s a spot on the wall she’s staring intensely at. “I have seldom desired guidance in my life. I had little need for it before the Games, but when I came out I found myself desiring it. When I tried to seek such guidance neither Verdant nor Calico would speak with me. It was… lonely.” Naoto’s twisting the bill of her cap again, and even with the dim light Kanji can see how dangerously the material strains.

“I did not acquit myself well following my victory, and I fear that behaviour may have continued had I not met Souji. He has a reputation for assisting others, and certainly did so for me. So, if you are amenable to the idea, I would like to offer the same assistance to you.” 

Kanji turns his head, and their eyes meet when Naoto looks up. There’s no pity in her eyes, none of the emptiness he had first glimpsed during her victory interview what feels like a life ago. Naoto is looking at him with understanding, and in a way that’s both better and worse. When he tries for a smile, he manages this time. "Yeah, I think I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah Naoto, you and your ability to blame yourself for things that super aren't your fault.
> 
> I'm not super happy with the ending of this but it's fine.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Discussions of gender identity and policing of gender

Despite Naoto’s offer of guidance, it still takes four months for the two of them to meet up. Between Kanji’s commissions and whatever Naoto does that keeps her locked in her house all day they’d both been very busy, and from the sounds of it were set to become busier still. She had gotten a call from Azalea that morning reminding her about the upcoming Victory Tour, as though that was something Naoto of all people would ever forget.

“This is ridiculous,” she repeats for the third time, breath misting in the November air. “I’ve rewritten his speeches into something comprehensible, I remember the etiquette for when we’re in the Capitol… perhaps Azalea isn’t used to having a competent Victor to work with?”

“Maybe.” Kanji takes a sip of his tea and hopes she doesn’t realize he isn’t listening. He knows he should be - he’d never paid any attention to the tour, and given that she’s talking about _dancing_ of all things there’s clearly something he missed- but he can’t make himself care. It might have been stupid, but when she’d invited him for tea he’d hoped they’d talk about something other than the Games. He reaches up to rub behind his ear, trying not to feel disappointed.

Naoto clocks the movement immediately, eyes focusing in on the motion. “Is it still sore from the injection?”

Kanji shrugs. “Just wish I didn’t have to do em every day.” 

“Once your aural nerves have regenerated sufficiently and your hearing has stabilized they’ll start tapering off the treatment. Things will begin to improve significantly from there.” She gives him a nod, expression going blank when Kanji sneers and looks away.

“Yeah, then we just gotta wait and see if I go blind,” he mutters. Kanji pulls his glasses off, fiddling with them and frowning. “Fuckin lightning. I ever find out who did that, I'm gonna kick their ass.” 

The scenario he dreams up is so in depth and elaborate that it takes him many long minutes before he notices Naoto hasn’t replied. When Kanji looks back she’s staring down into her tea. Except she can’t _really_ be looking at her tea, given the dangerous angle it’s hanging from her fingertips. He reaches over, planning on adjusting it so it won’t spill, but Naoto twitches violently when his hand comes into view, the tea slopping over her gloved fingers. “Shit!”

“Fuck, ‘m sorry!” Kanji reaches to unwind his scarf but Naoto pulls away, shaking off her hand. 

“It’s fine, Kanji, leave your scarf.” She pulls off the glove to inspect the damage: the skin is a little red but her expression is unchanged when she flexes her fingers. “There’s no harm done.”  
Of course Naoto’s okay - he’s watched her get her face carved open and keep fighting, a bit of tea isn’t going to bother her. 

Kanji looks away, fiddling with his nose piercing. “S’ good. What were you thinkin about, anyway? More Tour stuff?” 

To his surprise she blushes bright red, looking anywhere but at him. “Not… precisely.” She coughs to clear her throat before falling into what he now recognizes as a practiced pose. One hand on her hip, the other hanging by her side. “I was at first, but then I began thinking about your Games. Specifically the night before them.” 

The hand by his face goes still. “Jus- just forget about it, okay? I asked wrong then, an’ I still don’t know how to ask now -”

“But you want to?” Naoto’s voice is almost as tight as her posture, but he can’t tell if it’s with hope or nerves. She's hard to read when she's like this. Kanji doesn’t trust his voice not to crack embarrassingly so he nods instead. Naoto takes a deep breath and her shoulders relax the slightest bit. Her hand twitches awkwardly as she turns, gesturing for him to follow. 

Kanji doesn’t hesitate to do so.

...xXx…

Victor’s Village houses are constructed to be identical, so it’s immediately apparent that Naoto’s had some alterations made. He’d thought it a little odd that she had wanted to have tea on the gazebo in November even if it _was_ heated, but as she works the fifth lock closed on the door behind him he understands why. 

Naoto’s home is a monument to paranoia.

There are five locks on the door behind them, but from what he can tell they don’t seem to work right. If they did, she wouldn’t have to redo them over and over like she is now. Everywhere there is an open archway in his own home Naoto has instead installed a door. She brushes past him once her shoes are off, leading him towards the front of the house. Where his hallways are decorated with gifts from his commissioners and pictures of him and his Ma, Naoto’s are bare. Some of the light bulbs have even been removed from their fixtures, leaving the back of the house in gloom. They reach the they reach the foyer to find another door with yet more locks that Naoto begins undoing. Kanji looks away, scuffing his foot on the floor.

“You sure you want me here?”

“Yes.”

Kanji almost jumps out of his skin when a door to his right creaks open, his heart hammering as he looks for a place to hide. The adrenalin slacks off when he sees an old man standing there, dressed in an impeccable suit and leaning heavily on a polished cane. His eyes are grey, just like Naoto's. “Naoto, you didn’t tell me we were having guests.”

She stops fiddling with the locks and turns, looking sheepish. “Sorry Grandpa - Kanji, this is my Grandpa. Grandpa, this is Kanji Tatsumi, our new neighbour.” 

The man steps forward to shake Kanji’s hand. His grip is firm, despite his age. “My name is Saburo Shirogane, it’s nice to meet you. Will you be staying for dinner?”

Given it’s two in the afternoon, Kanji isn't really sure how to respond to the question. Fortunately Naoto spares him by working the last lock open on the door, gesturing for him to enter. “Perhaps after I’ve shown him the library, Grandpa. Kanji was eager to see it.” 

Saburo looks momentarily surprised and then beams, clapping Kanji on the shoulder. “You’ll have to let me know what you think of it - that collection was originally my great grandmother’s, it’s the pride of the family. Besides Naoto, of course.” He chuckles, shooting Naoto a wink around Kanji’s shoulder. She rolls her eyes and gently tugs Kanji up the stairs, leaving the door unlocked behind them. 

“I'm sorry,” she says as she leads him down the hall. “I didn’t think he’d hear us come in.” 

“S’ fine, he seems like a nice guy. How early do you guys eat?” 

Naoto doesn’t answer, moving instead to unlock the door to the master bedroom. She holds the door open, looking up at him. “After you.” 

The room has, at Kanji’s most conservative estimate, a fuckton of books. Every wall is lined with ceiling high shelves, all connected by a rolling ladder. The light from the windows struggles to slip over the tops of the bookcases blocking them. There is a plush rug covering the floor and a couple of leather chairs stuck in one corner next to a small table that he can see bending under the weight of all the books stacked neatly atop it. He turns in a slow circle, his jaw dropping. “The school didn’t even have this many,” he says quietly. 

Naoto follows him in, closing the door behind her. “This collection has been curated for over a hundred years, although the bulk of them have been purchased in the last few years.” She strides over to the left most bookcase, pulling a slim, crumbling volume from the shelf. She holds it out to him; Kanji’s grasp is gentle as he takes it, and her lips twitch in a smile. “You won’t hurt it, Kanji.”

Kanji swallows and adjusts his glasses, feeling a little silly. On the cover, pressed against a wall with an old fashioned pistol in his hand, is a man wearing the exact same coat Naoto had commissioned him for years ago. “Naoto, is this-”

“How did you become a boy?”

Kanji stops, opening and closing his mouth a couple times. That wasn’t a question he’d expected. “I dunno,” he says eventually. “I just am one, I guess. Feel like one. Why?”

She takes a deep breath and steps away from him, hands clasped behind her back. “When I was four, my parents were killed in a workplace accident. Something went wrong and the dye being used that day was vaporized. Everyone died within minutes. They were just two of a hundred.” She falls into that deliberate pose again. “My Grandpa took me in.”

“As the library suggests, my family has always been the sort that holds onto things. Grandpa had kept my father’s old clothes from when he was a child, first in the hopes that he would have another son, and then in the hopes that he would have a grandson.” Her voice catches slightly on the last word and something shifts in the back of Kanji’s mind. 

“When I outgrew the clothes my parents had bought me, Grandpa gave me my father’s old ones to wear in what was meant to be a temporary move while he made new ones. But I liked the clothes I was wearing, and when I told him as much Grandpa saw no reason to argue. When it came time to cut my hair, I wanted to have the same style as one of the characters in these books, so Grandpa cut it short. Not a lot of people had seen me even before the accident, so when we went out everyone called me his grandson, and when Grandpa saw how happy it made me he didn’t correct them. All he has ever wanted for me was to be happy.”

Naoto reaches up, running her hand through her bangs. “When I was five, I went to school for the first time. The teacher took one look at me and assumed there had been a mistake on my file. I became a boy, and when I went home I told Grandpa all about it. It felt exciting, like I’d learned a secret. I liked how boys dressed, and how they wore their hair, and with one word from my teacher I had become one. I could be just like the men in the stories he read me, and it felt nice.” 

Naoto smiles, a nervous little thing. “I could go to school and be a boy, and then come back and be a girl. Everyone I knew was only one or the other, but I could choose. I could be both, or neither, or whatever I wanted.”

Kanji swallows, his mouth very dry now. “I-.” Another swallow. “I’d forget. That you weren’t a boy.” It’s not what he wants to say - not by a long shot - but it’s the closest he’s ever gotten to the words he really wants and he hopes that Naoto understands.

That brings out a larger smile, though a sadder one, and Kanji knows the message is lost. “I would too,” Naoto says quietly. “The first time I went to the Reaping and they told me to go stand with the girls I was confused. I was a boy that day, why did I have to be with the girls? Because a blood test said so? I had been living as a boy for years, everyone _knew me_ as a boy, I wanted to stand with them.” Naoto’s lips thin. “Some of the girls came to talk to me after, and I didn’t know how to explain to them that while the administrator was correct in saying that I was a girl, they hadn’t been entirely accurate. I was also a boy, but to them only half of me mattered.”

“The next years were an exercise in patience. I continued to dress the way I liked, and people would forget that I had to stand with the girls during the Reaping if given enough time. If I just waited long enough, I could live as I liked for the rest of my life. I could just be Naoto, and not worry about if people thought I was a girl or a boy.” 

Naoto looks down at the carpet and Kanji’s fingers feel cold as he watches Naoto’s hands clench into fists.

“And then the Games happened,” he said quietly. Naoto gave a stiff nod. 

“Then the only thing that mattered was that I was a girl,” Naoto hissed. “I couldn’t just be a tribute, I had to be a _female_ tribute, and that meant dresses and high heels and everyone looking at me, talking about how much they wished my chest was bigger so they would have more to work with. You saw how I was dressed in the arena - I went right back to looking how I always did and none of it mattered until I came back out and they did this!” Naoto gestures violently and Kanij winces, setting the book aside so he doesn’t harm it by mistake. 

“Hey, that’s -” he cuts himself off. What does he even say to that? Kanji pushes himself up and before he knows it he’s standing in front of Naoto. Naoto’s eyes are so wide and he still doesn’t know what to say but he grabs Naoto’s shoulders and tries anyway. “The thing I made helps?” Naoto gives a tiny nod and Kanji feels Naoto trembling under his hands. He swallows and nods in turn. “Then I’ll make you more of em. And clothes. And anything else you want, okay?”

Naoto’s shoulders are shaking so hard that Kanji’s starting to really worry. “Thank you, Kanji,” Naoto mumbles. 

Kanji gives a small smile, stroking one thumb along the end of Naoto’s collarbone before letting go. Some of the tension bleeds off Naoto’s frame, and the shaking stops. “D’ you… d’ you want me to call you a guy? I can. Or a girl, I can call ya that too.” He’s blushing really hard now, but Naoto’s taking slower, deeper breaths and that means he must be on the right track. Controlled breathing has to be a good thing. 

Naoto’s head shakes, expression severe. “You can’t Kanji. Not when we’re in the Capitol, they don’t - I have to be a woman there. If the cameras are rolling, if we’re doing the Tour, or mentoring, I have to be a woman.”

“Okay, but there’s times when the cameras aren’t rolling, too. I could call you something then.” That feeling of failure is starting to creep up Kanji’s spine, the panic of not knowing what to say and it coming out all wrong. Naoto’s quiet for a moment, and he bites his tongue to keep from blurting anything out. 

“It …. Changes, from day to day. Sometimes I would feel like a boy or girl for weeks, or only for a short while. Most of the time I don’t feel like either.” 

Kanji turns the words over in his mind. “What do you feel like today?”

Naoto’s staring at the rug. “Neither. If I were to refer to myself in my head, I would use them as opposed to her or him.” 

Kanji straightens up, a grin spreading across his face. “In that case, my mentor’s name is Naoto Shirogane, and I think they’re pretty great.” 

A smile spreads across Naoto’s face, and the tension falls from their body. Their eyes move behind Kanji and they move, putting the book back. “We’ve been speaking for a long time; Grandpa’s offer still stands. You’re welcome to stay for dinner.” They look over their shoulder. “I also have some reading recommendations, if you like.”

A smile spreads across Kanji’s own face as he walks over. He stops next to Naoto and reaches for one on the top shelf. “I think I will. Can you tell me about this one?”

Naoto goes up on their toes, peeking at the title. “Certainly. This one begins on a rainy night, when a mysterious woman enters private detective Miles Diamond’s office…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow the biggest obstacle in updating this story was not related to work, lockdown, or the holidays, but rather binge watching FMA with my roommate. 
> 
> However you personally view Naoto's identity is completely valid; this is, to me, the interpretation that makes the most sense within the context of this particular story.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Naoto's pronoun use varies throughout the following chapter and for the rest of the fic.
> 
> Updated after I realized the last third of the chapter was missing.

Amidst the crowds of District Twelve, Ken Amada’s podium is jarringly empty. Kanji stumbles his way through his speech with the bravado that Azalea had coached into him, wondering just how many empty podiums there had been that he never noticed.  
. 

He asks Naoto about it that night on the train as they practice a waltz for the upcoming ball. The question brings Naoto to a halt, his hand tightening slightly on Kanji’s ribs before he steps away to grab his hat. Kanji grabs a glass of water Naoto turns what he wants to say over in his head. “Like everything to do with the Games, empty podiums are there by Capitol design. There are strict rules about who may stand for a fallen tribute. Only the most immediate of family members may do so - parents, siblings. Had I lost my Games, Grandpa wouldn’t have been allowed to stand for me, and my podium would have been empty. But that does not mean that those people were unloved. There is always someone, somewhere, who loves them.”

Naoto is doing his best to maintain eye contact and keep his voice steady, but just like that night on the roof his words ring hollow. Something he’s repeating because he thinks it’s the right thing to say, but not necessarily something he believes himself. This half truth feels so poisonous that when Naoto offers him his hand so they can continue practicing Kanji walks past him out of the carriage.

Kanji turns the lie over in his mind as sits curled in his bunk, one hand resting against the wall between his room and Naoto’s. Six months ago he had been able to hear Georgie moving around next door over the quiet din of the train; now the best he can do is rest his hand against the wall to feel when Naoto opens and closes his door over and over, closes drawers, or climbs into bed. He worries that Naoto would think it’s creepy or weird, but the part of him that has been quietly aching since he realized the injections weren’t working is stronger than his self consciousness. 

The sounds that he had heard on the train before are still there, but he needs to focus now where he hadn’t before. This is something Kanji repeats to himself as he strains to listen. Nothing has been lost, only hidden, but he can find it if he tries. This effort isn’t normal to him yet, and all he’s wanted since the Games ended is for things to be normal again.

_(He knows that isn’t true. He doesn’t want normal; he wants the person he was before the Games to never have existed. Wants to have always been Kanji Tatsumi: Victor of the Hunger Games, rather than Kanji Tatsumi: tailor, toy maker, and child. It would all be so much less painful that way.)_

So he presses his hand to the wall, and pretends that this is how it’s always been. 

...xXx…

The Tour is too rushed for Kanji to remember much of the Districts. All he sees of Twelve is Ken's podium. District Eleven is nothing but guns and orchards. The warmth and smell of animals in District Ten. 

In between he dreams of the Arena, and the look in Yusuke’s eyes when he killed him. 

...xXx...

As they roll into District Nine Kanji prepares himself to meet Chie Satonaka, the forgotten Victor of a forgotten Games, and one of Naoto's best friends. Trying to follow up the Quarter Quell was an impossible task, but Chie enjoyed the impossible. Upbeat, athletic, and the second volunteer in the history of her District, Chie had been a bright spot in a bleak year, able to keep a smile on her face right up until the very end. By all rights she should have been a darling of the Capitol. 

The Capitol had never much cared for what was right.

The woman who waits for him as he descends from the stage is not Chie Satonaka. This woman is tall, with long black hair, wearing a tan jacket with a red and black check scarf. Her smile is beautiful as she holds out a hand for him to shake. “I’m Yukiko Amagi, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Kanji shakes her hand, squinting as he looks her over. She’s familiar, but he can’t quite place from where. Putting his glasses on doesn’t solve the mystery. Fortunately Yukiko doesn’t seem bothered by the scrutiny, giving Naoto a quick handshake as well before pulling away. “I’ll be the one giving you the tour today, if you’ll follow me.”

Naoto falls into step next to Yukiko her. “Is Chie feeling unwell?” The worry in their voice is enough to make Kanji look away.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Yukiko shake her head. “No, it’s just really slippery today. You’ll see her later, but first-” she gestures to a massive, strange smelling building. “I’d like to take you through the main brewery.”

District Nine was not only the breadbasket of the Capitol, but the center of all liquor production as well. Yukiko walked them through the tasting menu, explaining the subtle differences between all of the samples that, to Kanji, all just tasted like beer. The brewmaster, a man named Konishi, gifted Kanji a bottle of their finest sake to go with the flowers he had received earlier, and by the time they all stumble out of the building the ground is pitching beneath their feet. “Best District ever,” Kanji says, doing his best to cover a wet belch as his stomach flips. 

Yukiko giggles brightly next to him, draped across Naoto in such a way that he’s surprised they’re still standing. “Isn’t it great? We have so many good things here, like fields!” Yukiko gasps and grabs Naoto’s face, turning their head so she can see them better. It looks painful. “Do you guys want to go see some wheat fields?” She sounds so excited that yeah, Kanji _would_ like to go see some wheat fields! 

Naoto, who is significantly more sober than either of them, gently removes Yukiko’s hands from their face and slips out from under her, holding her wrists between them to keep her steady. “Yukiko,” they say with a practiced firmness, “it’s January. All of the wheat is dead right now. There’s nothing to see.” Yukiko snorts and leans forward, knocking their foreheads together. Naoto’s nose wrinkles at the smell of alcohol on her breath.

“Chie says you don’t have a lot of open space in Eight; I thought you guys might want to see them anyway.” She looks over at Kanji and pulls Naoto into a tight hug despite their squeak of protest. Yukiko doesn’t budge despite their shoving. “So? Do you want to?”

Kanji shrugs, opening the bottle of Mori Ranmaru. “Sure, why not?” Naoto makes an even louder indignant noise when Yukiko lets them go to make a grab for the bottle. They straighten their hat, positively fuming. 

“Yukiko, I understand that you are very inebriated but we have discussed at length -”

Yukiko takes the bottle from Kanji, waving it around and spilling sake everywhere. “Naoto,” she says patiently. “Azalea is back at the brewery, and he’ll be there till we pour him back onto the train. No one cares where you two are right now. How often can you say that?” Yukiko tips the bottle back, necking half of it in one go. “Now come on, let’s go look at some snow.”

...xXx…

The walk is long and, true to Yukiko’s words, very slippery, but they’re all feeling a lot more sober by the time they reach Victor’s Village. Both Naoto and Kanji freeze as Yukiko heads to the nearest house, and she makes it several steps before noticing that they’re not with her. She tilts her head, clasping her hands behind her back. “What is it?”

Naoto coughs and adjusts their hat. “It’s nothing, just…”

“Dejavu,” says Kanji. He takes a couple more steps towards the houses. “It’s one thing to hear the houses were all identical but another to actually see it, you know? Like, that’s my house, but we’re nowhere near home.” 

Yukiko hums and turns to look at the house. “I never thought of it that way.” She shrugs after a moment and continues walking. Naoto jogs slightly to catch up with Kanji, shoulder brushing against his bicep. 

“That gazebo just paid for itself,” they mutter, and Kanji laughs.

Now that they’re closer they can see that the house Yukiko is approaching isn’t as identical as it had appeared. The right hand side of the stairs is covered by a well cared for ramp, and there’s a massive dog house built nearby. A booming bark echoes across the field and a St. Bernard appears at the top of the stairs, standing next to a woman in a green jacket. She’s leaning heavily on the railing and waving excitedly. “Hey guys! You made it!”

Kanji can feel Naoto freeze next to him before they start waving, and Yukiko practically flies up the stairs. Chie limps along the rail to meet her, her left arm trembling as she reaches for Yukiko. Yukiko steps into her space with a smile, letting Chie wrap her arm around her shoulder as her own arm finds its way around Chie’s waist. Chie looks up at her with the most loving smile and of course Yukiko was familiar: Chie had volunteered in her place. Yukiko gives her a quick kiss and it’s as if they’ve forgotten about Kanji and Naoto entirely. “Were you waiting long?” 

“Nope! Muku heard you guys a minute ago.” Muku huffs and lumbers down the stairs to sniff at the new people. Naoto crouches down, scratching his head and murmuring something that Kanji can’t hear even when he tries. Muku licks across their face and Chie giggles at Naoto’s expression. “He missed you!” 

Still stinging from his realization a moment ago, Kanji drops to his knees in the snow, holding his hands out for Muku to sniff. The dog pushes his head into Kanji’s hand and is immediately rewarded with an ear massage. “You’re such a cute boy! Yes you are, what a good boy. And your fur is so soft! Someone must love you very much and who wouldn’t love you when you're such a good boy?” Muku barks excitedly and knocks Kanji to the ground, which sends Yukiko into a fit of hysterical laughter. 

Chie whistles and Muku backs off, coming to sit at her side. She shrugs into a set of crutches and makes her way down the ramp. “Sorry about him; he was really excited to meet you. Which I get! I am too!” Chie stops in front of him and offers Kanji a hand, smiling brightly. “I’m Chie! It’s nice to meet you!”

Kanji takes her hand and is surprised when she not only pulls him to his feet, but all the way into a hug as well. Over her head he can see Naoto smiling as they help Yukiko up. “Uhh…” 

Chie grins and slugs him in the shoulder. The crutch hanging from her forearm brushes against his knee. “Welcome to the team!”

...xXx…

They don’t have long to talk. The walk had taken longer than expected and Naoto calls for a car so they won’t miss dinner. Azalea is bound to sober up eventually, after all, and missing a dinner with the mayor isn't something he would let slide. Chie doesn’t waste a moment, telling Kanji all about the places they’ll go in the Capitol. 

“There’s the river, and the bakery, and of _course_ we’re going to take you to Club Escapade!” She shoots Kanji an appraising look. “Do you have a dress you can bring?”

The white halter dress from two growth spurts ago is still tucked safely in its garment bag at home. “I’d have to alter it.” Kanji takes a cautious bite of his vegemite toast and immediately shoves the rest in his mouth. Yukiko sighs and hands five dolars to Naoto, who grins smugly. 

“Awesome! There’s dancing at Escapade and Naoto said they’re teaching you so it’ll be great.” Chie throws her arms wide. _“It’s more important to dance well than to cook well, ms. Satonaka. So sayeth I, Junius Finebottom, escort of District Nine!”_

Kanji laughs, leaning back into the chair. “Your accent sucks.” Chie throws a cookie at his face and yelps when he catches it in his mouth. 

“Toss me one! I want to try!” Kanji grabs one and the next thing they know food is flying everywhere as they all try to test their mouth-eye coordination. Yukiko shrieks with delight when she manages to throw a cookie in Naoto’s mouth while they’re explaining that they won’t be participating. Naoto then immediately tries to see if they can catch one on purpose. Muku snaps up all the cookies they miss, barking and spinning in circles. 

They send him home with three jars of vegemite and a promise to call when he’s back in Eight. Muku howls as they drive away, and Kanji can see Yukiko and Chie waving as the car pulls out of sight. Yukiko’s victorious laugh fills Kanji’s dreams that night, and sleep comes easily. 

...xXx…

It doesn’t stay. He gets up to grab a drink from the dining car just in time to watch the District Eight station flash by him and Kanji isn’t Kanji anymore. His muscles are moving but he's not in control. Someone else is using his arms to try and wrench open the door on the moving train. Someone else is begging for the train to stop as his home passes by, but it is him who believes it’s hopeless. The train will take him back to the Capitol and the Games will start again and he’ll never leave ever ever ever ev-

...xXx…

He doesn’t remember District Seven. 

...xXx…

When Kanji thought of Souji Seta he pictured someone with a clever response for everything, a man who could turn an entire conversation on a dime and could make you forget you weren’t the only two people in the world. The person he meets is not that. He’s perfectly pleasant, sure, but the charisma that had kept Kanji glued to the tv during his Games is missing. Souji’s smile had been enormous when he met them, squeezing Naoto’s shoulders tightly and shaking Kanji’s hand with the most enthusiasm of anyone Kanji had met so far. 

He didn’t say a word during the whole thing. Nanako - who had introduced herself as his sister rather than his cousin - had done all the talking since they got there. She points out things to see, explains the safety rules of the District while Souji hands out twine so they can tie their clothes close to their bodies. Six is a labyrinth of rails and low concrete buildings, the screeching of metal on metal a near constant presence as they wind their way through the city. 

Souji flits in and out of their group, always returning with something for them. Snacks, water, earplugs. He’s also in constant contact with all of them, and the part of Kanji’s brain that pays Way Too Much Attention to Naoto is paying attention to Souji as well. A hand on his shoulder here, fingers brushing against his wrist there. And it’s not just Kanji he’s touching either; he adjusts Naoto’s hat for them, lifts Nanako over a pile of rails despite her laughing protests. If he’s not fetching them something he’s got some kind of contact with someone. Kanji doesn’t know what to make of it, but he certainly notices it.

And when there’s a box of homemade sugar cookies waiting in his room on the train with a note from Souji promising to meet him in the Capitol he notices that too. Souji is pretty loud for a guy who doesn’t talk.  
...xXx…

The ground rumbles everywhere you go in Five, bone deep and looming larger in Kanji’s mind than even the dam. 

In District Four, there is a man standing on Yusuke’s podium, and the air is thick in his lungs in the best way. 

District Three smells of melting plastic and the air hurts to breathe. Naoto disappears after the speeches, returning hours later and carrying so many boxes that they can’t see over them. Kanji takes half, and instead of practicing for the Capitol ball Naoto shows him how to build a flashlight. When he lays in bed that night, feeling as Naoto moves about the room next door, he thinks something so cheesy that he buries his face in his pillow and laughs.

The shower runs grey with the dust of District Two, and Kanji watches out the window until the mountains finally fade from view. It's late when he makes his way to bed.

...xXx...

It’s even later when he first feels the knocking through his pillow. It’s too rhythmic to be from the train: onetwothree, onetwothree. Pause. Onetwo- Kanji groans and rolls over, pulling the pillow over his head. “Shut up…”

Onetwothree. Onetwothree. Onetwothree.

He throws off his blanket and presses his hand to the wall. The vibrations are firmer, definitely coming from Naoto’s room. “You okay in there?”

A pause and then onetwothreefourfiveSIXSEVEN- 

Kanji grabs his glasses and makes his way to Naoto’s door, checking both ways down the hallway. It’s mercifully empty, which means no one has to see him when he tries to enter their room. Nobody there to get the wrong idea about why he’s going in and start spreading rumours to every tabloid in the Capitol.

The door, naturally, doesn’t budge when he tries to open it. He didn’t really expect it to, but the part of his brain that isn’t focused on helping Naoto is now screaming that if he doesn’t want to be seen entering their room he absolutely cannot be seen breaking into it. Kanji’s swallows and looks to see the coast is clear before yanking on the handle. 

He can feel the lock flex slightly but it doesn’t give. Kanji looks back and forth before repositioning himself. Both hands on the door, one foot braced against the doorframe. He closes his eyes, counts to three, and straightens his leg as hard as he can.

The lock twists, catches, and then snaps, sending him sprawling to the ground. Kanji scrambles into the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

Kanji’s never seen Naoto’s room back home, but their room here is about what he expected. The boxes they picked up in Three are stacked neatly on the dresser. Their hat is hanging from a peg next to the blue jacket he made them, and the drawers from under the bed have been yanked out to make way for Naoto themself. One foot is sticking out from the collapsed bed frame. 

Three movements are all it takes. One to crouch by the bed, two to brace himself, and three to heave. The moment there’s enough space Naoto is scrambling backward; he can hear them slam into something, hear a box fall to the floor. Kanji would look but he’s too busy getting the drawers back into the frame. Once he’s sure nothing is going to collapse again he straightens up. 

Naoto is pressed against the dresser, staring vacantly at their own knees. He doesn’t know where they are right now, but their expression says it isn’t pleasant. Kanji’s looking at them and he doesn’t want to leave so he does the best thing he can think of. 

He does what his ma would do. 

He hands Naoto one glass of water, then a second. Once they’re on their third Naoto starts to sip at it instead, and Kanji switches tack. He digs some food out of the fridge and keeps passing them over until Naoto refuses. He takes a bite of everything before handing it over, just incase. With everything he passes Kanji is careful not to touch them. Chie and Souji hadn’t touched them much and there must be a reason so Kanji doesn’t either. When Naoto won’t eat anymore he gets up and makes the bed as neatly as he can. 

When he turns back there’s a question on his tongue and he lets it die there. Naoto’s answer is written all over their face - they won’t be sleeping anymore tonight. So Kanji takes a deep breath and grabs their hat, pressing it into their hands. He doesn’t wait to see Naoto’s expression, just hopes they follow.

The caboose is a beautiful space. Glass ceiling over the back half, wrap around windows surrounding a u shaped plush couch. He and Naoto have spent hours since the Tour began practicing their dancing here, and by the time they arrive Kanji already has the lights on, the music playing. 

Naoto is standing in the doorway looking lost and Kanji forces a bright smile as he holds out his hand. “Dance with me?” They take his hand robotically, and he tugs them gently into place.

Kanji starts off leading, the stars zipping past them overhead. Naoto follows along like a sleepwalker, grey eyes staring vacantly at his chest. It takes so long for Naoto to start responding that Kanji is beginning to get nervous, but the pressure on his hand changes. Naoto starts leading him around the carriage in turn, and the sun is starting to pinken when they fall to the couch.

He’s so busy trying not to think about how much his feet hurt that Kanji jumps when he feels Naoto rest their head on his shin. His heart is hammering as they adjust themselves, but Naoto looks up at him with a small smile and yeah, his feet hurting? Not really a problem.

He wants to say something. Ask what drove them out of bed, maybe. Offer a pillow because his shin can’t be comfortable. He doesn’t. He just watches until Naoto closes their eyes, until their breathing evens out.

Kanji watches the sun rise until he can’t anymore. He keeps watch, and hopes it helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties with how the Victory Tour works since our only example is decidedly abnormal. If there are any glaring contradictions to canon please let me know and I'll correct them.
> 
> I mentioned in a review response that this would likely be the longest chapter of the fic, and while that is true this isn't as long as it was intended to be. As much as I didn't want to split up the Victory Tour, I ended up having to once it became clear that the story was evolving in a way I hadn't planned and the scene in question needed more time dedicated to it. I'm not sure when precisely it will be up, but it's already in progress. 
> 
> BUT, once that is done we're going to start getting into some major time skips, and I think it'll be a fun ride.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: The beginnings of the forced prostitution ring from THG is mentioned, but not directly interacted with

The Victory Ball has to be seen to be believed. There is more food than you could possibly imagine, a whirlwind of smells and textures only years of exposure will allow you to identify. The dance floor is packed with people in extravagant clothing who all want to dance with you, and fireworks held in your honour. It is, truly, an extravagance, and all for you. A party beyond imagining, celebrating the death of your soul. 

Naoto frowns, glancing around for a napkin. She should write that down - it’s melodramatic enough for her current novel. The sort of thing Diamond Vinny would say as he takes a drag from a cigarette before passing it to Jason Shepherd, the enemies sharing a quiet moment as the rain falls. 

Naoto’s so lost in thought that she doesn’t notice Yosuke until he loops an arm around her shoulders, joining her in leaning against her chosen column. She shoots him a glare that would send most people scurrying. “Get off me.”

Yosuke ignores her, instead stealing her glass of champagne and downing the rest of it. “I missed those rustic District Eight manners of yours.” He passes the glass off to an Avox and takes two more in turn, passing one to Naoto. “Besides, I come bearing gifts.” He pulls a wad of bills out of his pocket and waves it in front of her nose. “Fresh off the roulette wheel. How about that? Got anything to say to me now?”

“Yes - please pass my gratitude along to Souji.” She trades Yosuke her drink for the money, ignoring his pout as she divides it up. Half is slipped into each cup of her bra before she takes back the drink, and clinks their glasses together. “How’s he doing?”

Yosuke makes a non-committal noise. “Hasn’t been kicked out yet, so I guess he’s fine.” The second floor is private, and home to more, less public pleasures: a casino, a burlesque show, a lounge with every drug you could desire. Last year there was even an orgy. Yosuke loosens his tie and leans more firmly against the column. “Sure you don’t wanna join him? He’s working on Chie’s stack right now, could use another spotter.” 

“I-”

“And why do you guys need so much money anyway? Aren’t you all the richest people in your Districts? I thought that was the entire deal.” Naoto winces at the volume, glancing around the room. The Victory Ball is among the worst places to cause a scene even if you’re visibly inebriated, and she _would_ like to sneak off to the second floor at some point tonight. A friend of hers is supposed to be performing later. 

“Bribes are more expensive when people know you can afford them,” she says once she’s sure security isn’t approaching. Naoto turns back to the dance floor. Kanji hasn’t been without a partner since he stepped out there; right now he’s dancing with a girl about his age, perhaps a little older. Her hair is a beautiful shade of teal that doesn’t quite match the shawl she’s wearing, but the effect is no less lovely. Her eyes and smile are kind but something about her sets the deepest parts of Naoto’s mind on edge. 

_And they can’t tell if it’s lingering effects of their nightmare the other day or that fear that slipped inside their ears to line the inside of their skull all those years ago but something about her says danger, whispers it down their spine but she’s not a predator like Naoto or Souji or Chie - or Kanji he’s one of you now no matter how much you wish otherwise..._

Yosuke turns his head, following her gaze. “Didn’t think Yamagishi would be here,” he says.. The song has ended and Yamagishi is stepping away to join a girl with long scarlet hair, a boy moving in to take her place at Kanji’s side. Naoto must be making a face because he continues. “She’s a student at the Academy. Real studious type; this isn’t exactly her scene.”

So a Gamemaker then, or one in training. “I look forward to seeing her work,” she says blandly. The next song kicks up and Naoto groans, her head falling back against the column. “How is it not time for Rise to take a break yet? She’s been singing since before we got here.” 

“I dunno, guess that comes with being a professional singer.” Yosuke gives her a scrutinizing look. “Do you wanna go sit down somewhere? Those heels look like they hurt. We could go to the pool.” 

That earns him a withering glare. “So Souji can throw me in the pool again? No thank you.” She turns her attention back to Kanji, forcing herself to focus on him. “I promised Kanji that I would step in if someone made him uncomfortable. How precisely would I intervene if I’m sitting on a deck chair, out of sight?” 

Yosuke looks away, fiddling with the tie Souji tied for him. “It’s just a rumour, Nao,” he says softly. 

_A rumour where attractive, young Victors were being offered around like appetizers for the right price._ “You wouldn’t have told me about it if you thought it had no merit. I would rather be safe with him than sorry.” Yosuke turns back, a reassurance on his lips when Naoto sees it: Kanji’s hand splayed flat perpendicular to his side. Their signal for her to get him out of there. She hands Yosuke her drink, moving around him. “Excuse me a moment,” she murmurs.

Intimidation has always been an uphill battle for Naoto. Perhaps if she had ripped someone’s throat out with her teeth people would look at her differently, but she knows that when they see her all they see is her build. Someone tiny and light: barely a challenge, let alone a threat. It was what her fellow tributes had thought, she knows. They had thought that right up until she killed them. 

She has one of the highest body counts in the Games to date. Funny how they forget that.

Her blue dress billows behind her as she stalks across the dancefloor. She comes to a stop next to Kanji and his partner, too close to be anything but an interruption. The boy turns to look at her, annoyance written on his face. “What do you want?” His tone is the bare minimum of politeness for her station; she makes a note of it. “We’re in the middle of something here.” 

“And I was wondering if I could cut in.” Naoto is careful not to look at Kanji when she speaks, one hand resting on her hip. “As his mentor I believe I’m allowed to dance with my Victor.” 

It’s somewhat of a dirty trick: the relationship between mentors and their Victors is something the Capitol has long romanticized. They see it as something inherently intimate - an entire sub-genre of romance novels is dedicated to the idea. It sells incredibly well, too; Naoto’s own novels have lost out to it consistently. This boy doesn’t seem to be a fan of those novels, if his expression is any indication. “Fine, whatever, but can you wait? Like I said, we’re -”

“S-sure! I’ll dance with you!” To the boy’s horror Kanji pushes past him, grabbing Naoto’s hand and all but dragging her onto the dance floor. Their practice on the train pays off and they fall into step easier than breathing as the crowd parts around them. Kanji’s hand falls to Naoto’s waist and he squeezes gently. “Thanks,” he mumbles. There’s a flush across his cheeks and he won’t meet her eyes; Naoto takes his hand and squeezes in response, saying nothing. 

There is a trick that Souji uses; Naoto has heard Yukiko mention it, back when she would call late at night, worried about Chie. Souji, gregarious and charming Souji, has weaponized silence. His silence was even stronger than his words, able to set people on edge as easily as it set them at ease. Naoto’s been on the receiving end of it, years ago on a night she doesn’t like thinking about; she hopes it will work with Kanji now. 

It isn’t quick. They’re on to their third song before Kanji speaks. “‘M a coward,” he says. He’s curled so far over that Naoto can feel the ends of his hair dragging on her bare shoulder; he’s only technically not burying his face in her neck. 

She risks a glance over her shoulder - sees the boy from earlier glowering at them, and Kashiwagi adjusting the way her dress hangs from her piercings as she waits. The look she gives them could melt glass. Naoto turns back to Kanji, tilting her chin so her lips are against his ear. Harder to lipread. “What do you mean?”

Naoto’s not expecting the violent shiver that runs through Kanji, but when she tries to pull away his grip on her waist stays firm. Frowning, she pushes her hand back against his, the same way she would if she were leading. He doesn’t move to follow, but she can feel his hand relax in hers. Kanji threads their fingers together after a moment: she can feel him shaking.

His sigh spills across her neck. “When ya told me about this I was kinda excited, ya know? Big party all for me. So when Livius came to talk to me I was excited. Guys never paid me much attention in Eight. But then he started starin at me like I was gonna do a trick or something...”

He sounds absolutely miserable and for a second Naoto wants to be anywhere but here. This sounds like a personal matter the likes of which Souji or Yukiko or anyone else would be better equipped to handle. Definitely not Naoto, and certainly not as she is now, a caricature of themselves. She rests her temple against his, letting themselves sway. 

“Is he lookin at us?” Naoto hums, squeezing his hand gently. She feels Kanji swallow. “And that lady? The one with the…” 

“The nipple piercings? Yes, Kashiwagi is still watching us.” Naoto’s heart aches when he blushes at her words. She swallows. “She’s one of the Games’ biggest sponsors; I think she’ll be insisting on the next dance.”

Even with Kanji leaning against her as he is, Naoto almost misses his next words. “Did she donate when I took my shirt off?”

Three years ago the words would have sent Naoto into the kind of rage that had made them infamous at the factory. Now all they feel is despair as the song ends. Kanji’s hand slips from their waist, but Naoto moves before he can pull his hand away. Their eyes fall closed as they press their lips to his knuckles they way they’ve seen Yosuke do to Souji a thousand times when he’s needed reassurance.

Kanji goes completely still and Naoto looks up, terror racing across their veins. This was a mistake, they should have asked, he’s going to hate them now, what were they-

Kanji is kissing them. He’s kissing them in front of everyone and his fingertips are curled gently at the hinge of their jaw and- and-

Naoto’s eyes fall closed, they hook their elbow behind his neck to pull him closer, and the din around them fades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooo work is a million times more difficult than I expected, and as such the update rate is going to drop even lower than I expected it to. Not going to stop, but will be pretty sporadic now that I only really have one day a week where I have the energy to write. 
> 
> Also shout out to the 2019 Fruits Basket remake; it's great and absolutely influenced this chapter.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: references to past self harming behaviour

If the last six months taught Kanji anything, it’s that Naoto will be the death of him. Not even from anything they do on purpose, really. At least he thinks it’s not on purpose; it would be pretty difficult to have strong hands on purpose. 

And Naoto has really strong hands. Kanji knows he’s spending way too much time thinking about it but he would also like to argue that it’s really damn hard not to think about something that’s happening right in front of your face six hours a day. Stronger men than him would crumble when faced with Naoto Shirogane restoring a rusted bike with their own two hands, dressed as always in a crisp white button down and black dress pants.

(Now if their friends would stop fucking laughing about it that would be great.)

“It’s a tale as old as time,” Chie giggles, leaning against him as their tributes roll out to join the Parade. “Boy buys rusted piece of shit bike to give his mom a ride to work-“

“The rickshaw guy stole my money!”

“Attractive older neighbour sees young man struggling in the snow and offers to help him. Their fingers brush as one passes the other a wrench. Their eyes meet.” She presses the back of her hand to her forehead, voice pitching dramatically. Kanji can see the mentors from Ten snickering and frantically checks to see if Naoto is within earshot. He’s talking to Souji over at Six’s station, the two of them lost in their own world. 

Gently as he can, Kanji shoves Chie away from him. His face feels like it’s going to burn off. “Fuck off! We got a job to do.” 

Chie snorts, reaching up and pinching his cheek. Kanji’s never wanted to kill anyone before, but there’s a first for everything. “Naoto’s serious enough for five people, you can chill out.” Chie lets go of his cheek, ducking away when he tries to retaliate. Naoto chooses that moment to wander over, adjusting the hem of his shirt. The motion provides enough of a distraction for Chie to slip away, catching Kanji on the ankle with her crutch in a way that could, technically, be described as an accident. 

Naoto gives Kanji an inquisitive smile and the pain in his leg is forgotten. “What were you and -”

A shriek echoes through the terminal and Naoto is shoving Kanji back, throwing their male tribute towards him. Travis immediately starts bawling into Kanji’s chest and Kanji can’t even process that before Mila, their female tribute, tries to throw herself past Naoto. “Let go of me! I’m gonna kill him! You hear that? I’m going to kill you!” 

Things devolve from there.

...xXx…

Mila is violent, standoffish, and unwilling to listen to anyone about anything. Travis, so far, has cried at the sight of the other tributes, the horses, and the sound of hair clippers. Azalea pours Kanji a large drink that night. “You’re going to need it,” he says. He already sounds tired. 

Naoto escorts Mila and Travis down to training the first day. “To ensure they both arrive unharmed,” he says flatly. Naoto doesn’t kiss him when he leaves, but he doesn’t do that back home, either, so Kanji is much less devastated than Azalea. 

“So cold! I don’t know how you put up with it, Kanji, I really don't.” He shakes his head, pink hair unmoving under all the hairspray. “You’d think the bloom of young love would have softened her somewhat.” 

Kanji rolls his eyes. If Azalea knew Naoto at all he’d know a lot of those words didn’t even apply to him most days. Not that it mattered, really. He was four years ahead of Naoto on the whole “having feelings for you” thing, and Naoto had more going on than he had suspected. He had asked for time, and Kanji was happy to give it. 

_(Besides, what was he supposed to do? Tell Azalea their whole romance was a big misunderstanding and that Naoto had never thought of him that way before they kissed? That he had spent years in love and had needed to spend the entire ride home explaining this because his feelings were completely inconceivable to the person in question?)_

When the elevator door reopens he expects to see Naoto, so it’s something of a surprise when Chie emerges, clad in shorts and a matching green jacket. “Kanji! What’re you still doing up here?” She’s using both crutches today and gives Azalea a nod before grabbing a strip of bacon from the table. “We gotta get going, come on.” More bacon. 

Kanji looks between Chie and the elevator. “Go where? Naoto was gonna show me where to pick up sponsors.” 

Chie shakes her head, making a face. “My trick is better, trust me.” She leans over to pour herself some orange juice, nearly knocking Azalea’s drink into his lap. “You can blame me if she gets mad. Now come on, let’s go!”

Resisting Chie was pointless, so Kanji just shrugs at Azalea and follows her to the elevator, grabbing some bacon of his own on the way. She leans against the door so she can watch the city as they descend, humming to herself. Once they’re on the street she turns to him. “How’s Naoto?”

“More like me than you.” He shoves his piece of bacon in his mouth. “Wurr e’ oin?” 

Chie starts off down the street, twitching her head for him to follow. “To the normal person shopping areas. How much did Naoto tell you about sponsors? Probably a lot, knowing him.”

“There were diagrams,” Kanji admitted. It had been a long lecture and he’d spent most of it distracted by Naoto’s fingers as they’d traced over pricing guides and figures. “Specific sponsors are the big spenders and buy off the item lists or send custom items. Generic pay into a pool.” Chie nods in approval.

“Specific sponsors want to be wined and dined; they’re the ones the Career mentors usually focus on since they’re the ones who buy them things when they’re tributes and tend to spend more when they do. Naoto and Souji are scoping them out today to see if it’s worth trying for them. Your escorts will make a short list after that.” 

Kanji frowned. “Escorts? You mean like Azalea?”

Chie nodded, ducking down an alley Kanji hadn’t even noticed. “Yeah, like Azalea. And Phil, Zenith, Maddox... We identify potential big sponsors, they close the deal. In theory, anyway. But that’s not what we’re after.” 

The square she leads him to is full of people, just like everywhere in the Capitol. Billboards cycle through posters of this year’s tributes, a countdown in the corner announcing the time until the Games begin. There’s a man standing behind a coffee stall who waves to Chie, who beams and waves back.

She tilts her head back, grinning at Kanji. “That’s Bast, he’s a fan of mine. And after we get some coffee, we’re gonna find some of yours.” 

Kanji’s eyebrows raise. “ _Mine?_ Why? Where would we even find them?” He glanced back and forth, frowning. A little girl with fluorescent yellow hair squeaked and hid behind her mother. He looked away.

“All over! And because you’re big news, that’s why.” Chie shakes Bast’s hand, smiling brightly as she introduces Kanji. A moment later and they were being handed two coffees, free of charge. “You were really popular; Naoto spent forever on the phone with your customers during the Games and after everything with the Victory Tour? People will want to talk to you, and if they talk to you, they’ll be more willing to spend money on you.” She takes a sip of her coffee before adding a ton of sugar. “Generic donations aren’t flashy, but you get way more of them and they’re usually not tribute dependent. Building that base is important.” 

Kanji hid behind his coffee, memories of the fanmail he’d been getting coming to mind. Some of it was quite explicit. “If I get stuck talking to Kashiwagi you’re dead to me.” 

Chie laughs, knocking against him and completely ignoring his question. The family with the little girl are looking in their direction, and when Chie waves they smile. “Come on big boy, your adoring public awaits.”

...xXx…

The adoring public is a lot more adoring than Kanji had expected. The adults are tickled that he’s thanking them, the younger kids get a kick out of seeing if he can lift them, and even the older ones, the ones closer to his age that he would most expect gruesome questions from just seem excited to be around him. People wave to him from across the street, wishing him a happy Hunger Games at the top of their lungs.

Kanji signs autographs, takes pictures, answers more questions than he ever would have expected about what life is like back home, and after a brief incident with a lady and a loose thread spends most of the afternoon mending and making things while he talks. He doesn’t even notice that Chie has disappeared until the day is winding down, and it is only after the third offer of dinner that he manages to extricate himself from the crowd and head back. 

The tower is easy enough to find: all you have to do is look up and there it is, shining in the setting sun. He nearly gets run over twice, and definitely gets distracted by all the animals that are out and about, but eventually Kanji makes his way back to the Eighth floor. He shares the elevator with Elizabeth from Two and Merwyn from Ten and gives real thought to stepping back in when he disembarks. Sylas is arguing with a man with slicked back hair Kanji has never seen before, and Azalea and Naoto are drinking in the lounge. Mila and Travis are nowhere to be seen.

The avoxes are the same from last year, and Kanji nods to the old man when he hands over the gifts he accumulated during the day. The man gives him a polite nod and heads to the doors of the mentor’s rooms. The Capitol had installed a door between Naoto and Kanji’s rooms as a gift after the Victory Tour. A gesture of support for their relationship that had only served to heighten Naoto’s paranoia and give him more locks to check at night.

Avoxes aren’t supposed to talk, but damn does the guy communicate when he drops the bag off outside Naoto’s room instead. 

Kanji scowls but accepts the drink the man offers in apology, unable to shake the feeling he’s being laughed at. Naoto nods when he approaches, his knuckles bleached white around his glass. The look on his face is enough to make Kanji question the tribute’s absence. “Who’s the guy talkin to Sylas?”

“That,” says Azalea coldly, “is Hidetoshi Odagiri. Apparently he’s decided he’s going to be Naoto’s new stylist.” He shoots Naoto a look and Kanji’s surprised his head doesn’t catch fire under Naoto’s returned glare. 

“I didn’t ask him to come here! He followed me in,” Naoto snarls. He downs the rest of his drink and sets it on the nearest table with a bang. “I thought he was part of a different team.”

“He is! His own team! And now he’s trying to weasel his way into _our_ team, _completely_ disregarding procedures!” Azalea looks like he’s going to explode. “He’s not even a stylist! He’s a fixer! A _fixer_!” The revulsion in his tone is clear. 

“What’s a fixer?” Kanji takes a sip of his drink before passing it to Naoto. Chie’s voice echoes through his mind when their fingers brush, but the slight relaxation in his shoulders makes it worth it. Azalea is too busy being offended to notice.

“Someone who sticks their nose into other people’s business and tries to take all the credit if things turn out well.” His attention shifts behind them and Kanji and Naoto turn. 

Hidetoshi grins at them with an air of smugness so cloying Kanji can barely breathe. He turns to Naoto, inclining his head. “I look forward to working with you, ms. Shirogane.” He doesn’t even give Naoto the time to respond before he turns on his heel, collecting his jacket from an avox as he passes. 

The moment the elevator door closes Azalea whips around, his drink slopping over the edge of the glass. “What the fuck was that? You’re _letting him style her?_ ” 

Sylas winced, taking a glass of wine from one of the avoxes. “Azalea, listen. I’m styling five people this year _by myself_. I haven’t had a partner since the last Quell, and Rise won’t be ready to do any real heavy lifting for two years at the earliest. By the way, Kanji, Rise is taking over as your stylist next year, I trust that’s fine.” 

“Uh-“

“But Hidetoshi? Really?” Azalea shakes his head. “He won’t last a week.”

“Then he doesn’t last a week.” Sylas drains his wine and sighs, leaning the rim against his temple. He looks tired. “Shirogane, congratulations, I will no longer be dressing you. Rejoice, celebrate, whatever, blah blah blah.” He flaps a hand in his direction. “I’m going to go home and have a very long, hot bath. Good luck with everything.”

Azalea shakes his head, staring at his drink. “We’re gonna need it.”

...xXx…

They need it. They need it so, so badly. The training results are dismal- Mila scrapes a five on her assessment but Travis only a three. Travis counts this as a credit to his acting ability and a boon to his “hiding until everyone is dead” plan, but Naoto is worrying about sponsorship opportunities. So far only Mila has attracted much attention from sponsors, and gaining them is frequently an uphill battle.

Their tributes have split for individual mentoring: Travis with Kanji, Mila with Naoto. Allocated according to bodycount, Azalea laughs, and it may be a joke to him but it sends Naoto to Kanji’s room that night. They don’t touch, barely even talk, but Kanji helps Naoto move furniture in front of the doors after he checks the locks, and grabs him extra blankets so he can bundle himself up properly on Kanji’s couch. 

...xXx...

(The night before the Games begin there’s a party. Yosuke, Teddie, and Rise arrive and whisk the Victors to a place with more people than Kanji has ever seen in his life. There is a boy with sapphire fangs and cats eyes, and a vial of shimmer pale liquid. 

There is Naoto and music and a weight that beats behind his heart when they guide him to the dancefloor, pull him deep into the crush where they can be people again.

They taste how Kanji remembers, and after that there is nothing.)

...xXx…

Kanji is nineteen years old, standing inside the hangar as the hovercraft lifts off. He feels too big and too small all at once. The world blurs as Naoto approaches. 

(Kanji is ten years old, standing outside his parent’s room on the day it becomes his mother’s room. He feels too big and too small all at once, and the world blurs as his father is taken away.)

“What did you-,” he whispers as his hands shake. “What did you do after I boarded?”

“I tried to wash my hands of you,” Naoto says. 

“Did it work?”

Gentle pressure traces his knuckles, fits between the bones of his hand. Naoto’s touch is warm, and when Kanji turns his hand to take theirs they don’t pull away. The silence is answer enough.

...xXx...

“Who do you think is going to win this year?” Chie stretched her arm behind her head, reclining on the deck chair. Souji sits with his hands hanging between his knees, deep in thought. 

“One,” he says after a moment. “They’re hungrier for it; they felt robbed at the Quell and the only Career win since then was Two.”

“Right, I forgot about that.” She sighs, swirling the ice in her glass. Splashing sounds from the pool as Rise does her best to drown Teddie. The Games play quietly on a portable TV set off to the side. Down to the final five, now. A short year. 

Kanji is staring at his knees, watching them slowly blister red in the sun. It’s the tenth day of the Games, and the seventh since they left the ready room when District Nine lost. For Kanji, everything had been over in the first five minutes and nothing has felt real since. 

It was a beautiful arena. Eucalyptus trees as far as the eye could see: lots of places to hide, good verticality for ambushes. Plenty of hunting, too, unlike his own arena. Mila had charged directly into the bloodbath and got an axe to the stomach for her trouble. She’d been left kneeling and staring at her own entrails as the other tribute moved on. Travis had caught a throwing knife to the back of the neck and died as he fled. District Eight, down and out. 

Yosuke had picked them up once their interviews were done, and drove them to his new home. It’s a monster of a house: eight bedrooms with ensuites, a lift to help Chie on her bad days, a pool in the back so Teddie could teach them to swim, and a three car garage beyond that. Naoto and Yosuke had locked themselves in the garage a couple hours ago, leaving the rest of them to bake by the pool in the July sun. 

It takes Kanji a second to notice the shadow falling across his legs, and a few more to lift his head. Naoto is dressed in their usual dress shirt and pants, heat - and Rise’s many attempts to get them in a bikini - be damned. Two weeks ago Kanji would be worrying about them overheating, but now he just stares. “What?” 

“Would you please come to the garage with me? I need your assistance for something.” Naoto has their hands behind their back, expression calm and collected. Unbothered, like the wake they’d held was months behind rather than days. 

Kanji sighed, pushing himself up. “Ya’ need to me to lift something heavy?” 

Naoto tilts their head so they can keep eye contact, wincing slightly when the sun dips below the brim of their cap. “Not exactly. Please follow me.” Kanji flips Rise off when she whistles, her laughter following after them. 

“Okay, what am I…” Kanji stops, staring. Two bikes are standing near the exit into the alley, one purple and one blue. A trailer sits nearby, waiting to be attached to one of the bikes. Naoto walks over to them, grabbing the helmet from the purple one and tossing it to him. “Naoto?”

“During the twenty eighth Hunger Games a chemical titration error was made. The concentration of the acid rain used during their final confrontation was wrong: the acid was so strong it burned the tribute’s skin.” They put their helmet on, fiddling to adjust the fit. “Adama, District Five’s first Victor, was permanently blinded when the rain got in his eyes. Following this, the chemist who made the error was identified and summarily executed. Now tell me, Kanji. Do you think that man’s death impacted his life in any meaningful way? Or did he wake up the next morning to find he was still blind?”

Shame burned along the back of Kanji’s neck and he looked away. “This ain’t the same.”

“Isn’t it?” Naoto drums their fingers against their thigh, biting their lip. “Mourning is natural: it’s healthy. It’s when it changes to punishing yourself that problems arise. Because punishing ourselves won’t bring them back, and it doesn’t increase our chances of helping the tributes next year. Souji, Chie, myself - we’ve all tried, and our methods were exhaustive. All it will do is leave us lonely, and I see no reason to allow you to do this to yourself.” 

He thinks of the vacant look on Akihiko’s face when they left the ready room, of the long scars he glimpsed on the tops of Souji’s feet when they changed for the pool. “So what do we do instead? Ride bikes?”

“For today,” says Naoto. “I teach you how to ride, and we don’t think about anything beyond that.”

Kanji puts his helmet on, his lips twitching. “Is that what Souji did for you? Sounds like something he would do.”

“Yosuke is the one who taught me how to ride a bike. Souji threw me in a pool in a misguided attempt to get me to switch clothes with him. He thought I would be more comfortable in his suit.” They reach up and adjust Kanji’s chin strap. “He’s very lucky I didn’t drown in that dress, or then I’d have had to kill him.”

Kanji bursts into startled laughter, the sound loud enough to draw the others away from the poolside. Chie squeals and immediately drops into the trailer, begging for someone to pull her behind them. Teddie runs to bring down his bike while Rise rushes for a spot on the back of Naoto’s, tucking her sarong under herself so it won’t catch and ignoring Naoto’s protests about her undermining their attempts to teach. Souji and Yosuke take turns pulling Chie and recording videos for Yukiko as Naoto coaxes Kanji around the block, and until the sun sets all Kanji can think of are the six people around him.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you want to make your faves suffer, and sometimes you just want to write something just for fun. This is what happens when both occur at once.
> 
> This is my first spin with any characters from Persona 4, and more will show up as the story progresses.


End file.
